The Federal Department of Corrections
by gaaraisthebest170
Summary: Butters has been sent to prison and there he meets an array of colorful characters who will either help or hinder his quest to survive. But when he meets a certain blonde inmate, his life behind bars gets a lot more steamy. Meanwhile, Kyle has been framed for crimes he didn't commit. Will he manage to maintain an unlikely romance with a guard? Bunny, Style, Dip, Candy, and more ;)
1. The Saw Is The Law

**A Note From The Author****: Greetings, everyone! This is my newest story, one I've been preparing for since… many months ago~ Prison life is always so very fascinating to me, and is a good petri dish for rich things like character development and relationships (except not at ALL). I have a deep-rooted love for the disgusting flaws and cruelties in the system. Well… perhaps I should phrase it differently. What humans define as **_**judgement**_ **is intriguing, and has adapted over the years in strange ways. I hope to capture and convey that, and acknowledge the hardships of prison (and though this prison setting isn't nearly as hardcore as places like **_**Oz**_**, I hope the severity will hold some weight regardless). While I have some backseat knowledge of the slammer, most of my sources of reference come from TV shows such as **_**Oz**_ **and more recently** _**Orange Is The New Black.**_ **I've also looked into juvenile detention, legal laws in Colorado, and many stories from people who have been in the system before. Like I said, I have a pretty keen interest in the subject. If there are any details or inaccuracies you find in this translation of prison (I know this isn't max, even though most of the crimes committed were pretty serious. I don't want despair to entirely overshadow every other element of this story, so I'm bending the rules a little.) PLEASE tell me so I don't look like a careless idiot xD I'll address you and note the correction if need be. **

**I do not own South Park or any form of anything aside from this story. Title of chapter is by Whitechapel. This is rated M for violence, sexual themes, dark themes, substance abuse perhaps, and whatever else I feel like including. You've been warned. I sincerely hope I don't inspire anyone to do anything illegal- if I have I apologize and you better pray to GOD you don't get caught! This chapter is merely an introduction of the lifestyle you can expect and several characters. There will be these following pairings for sure: Bunny, Style, Candy, Dip, Cryde, and perhaps I'll include a goth kid orgy somewhere. Reviews are greatly appreciated, but I won't demand them from you. Thank you for reading this shit~ 3**

CHAPTER 1: THE SAW IS THE LAW

"Squat and cough."

"Um… w-what?"

"You heard me. Squat your scrawny white ass down and cough." The blonde prison guard glowered down at me, pinching together her perfectly penciled eyebrows in frustration.

I was naked. Entirely naked, and it was entirely humiliating. This whole experience was humiliating. Here I was, presenting my bare behind to this attractive lady who was prepared to do… _something _to me with a flashlight. Perhaps it would've been better if I wasn't lined up with a bunch of other guys who were _also_ butt-naked.

"Umm… whatcha doin' back there, Miss?" I asked, nervous about what was going to happen to my rectem. It's true that my knowledge of prison was very limited, to put it kindly. I didn't like not knowing what Miss… Stevens, according to her name plate, was thinking of doing to me. Heck, I wasn't even technically in prison yet and I was already super jittery.

"What do you _think _she's doing back there, stupid? Checking your ass for coke. Or whatever else you can fit up there." A gravely voice next to me wheezed, and I looked over to see a skinny man with gangly and rather greasy dark hair. He seemed alarmingly underweight and I could probably count each one of his ribs if I really wanted to. His eyes were rimmed in black and his pale flesh was inked out in skulls and scrawly letters. He reminded me of a piece of used parchment.

I wanted to ask him who he was, but I was more concerned with his words at the moment. "Wha-"

"Christ! Cough already!" Snapped Miss Stevens, tapping her dark boot against the white floor tiles theatrically. Complying, I did as I was told and I watched in my peripheral vision as she examined my rear with her little flashlight. Despite my humility, I let out an unintentional chuckle. "What the hell are giggling about, Stotch? You think this is something to laugh at?" She asked roughly. This lady may look real pretty, but she sure was mean. It was all the same to me, though. Women only made me feel nervous and self-aware. Maybe that's why I like men.

"No ma'am. I was just choking a little, since you asked me ta cough and all." I bit my lip. I didn't even know why I HAD to cough in the first place. Tattoo Man said she was looking up my anus for drugs, so why did I have to cough? Are the throat and the butt magically connected or something?

Miss Stevens seemed satisfied. "As you were, then." And she moved on up to Tattoo Man, who sighed dramatically and coughed like a chainsmoker. Judging by his yellowing teeth and the scent of his skin, he probably was. Eventually, our prison guard inspected the rest of us for illegal contraband and yelled angrily at the muscular African American in our sad little group after she pulled out a small plastic bag. I groaned in disgust and looked away, catching a glimpse of Tattoo Man rolling his eyes in sheer boredom.

"Is this your first time in the slammer?" Tattoo Man piped up as were got in line to have our fingerprints taken.

"Yeah. This place is really big! I thought it'd be a lot smaller." I replied, cringing inwardly at how awed I sound. You gotta stop talking like that, Leopold. People don't seem to like you talking like that here. "W-What about you?"

"Well, I've been serving time for about six years now. Moved on down here once my sentence got shortened." Tattoo Man explained tiredly, shuffling up in line. "Still got another six left."

"At least you've reached halfway!" I replied, trying to lighten the mood. This guy sure was a downer!

"It's not half anymore. Not until I get to three."

That didn't make much sense to me, so I changed the direction of conversation. "If you don't m-mind me asking… What'd you do?"

"I do mind." Tat Man cut in coldly. "Word of advice: don't ask people that unless you want to get ass-raped. But… Ah, what the hell. You're new." He caved, lowering his voice. "I burned down this faggy jock's house back when I was in college. Wouldn't of been that bad of a sentence if his little sister hadn't been inside. Wish I knew that before the place went up like a matchbox."

I immediately regretted asking. Luckily, it was Tat Man's turn to get his fingerprints done, and I watched in relative silence as he pressed his fingers in the little blue stamp pad before sloppily placing them against the document. I really needed to watch what I said around here. Most people seem to have it harder than I do.

We all finished up our fingerprints and made our way down the hall to a small locker room, where we were each handed a set of orange suits and a pair of flimsy shoes. Upon further inspection, I discovered a white undershirt and underwear in the fold of clothing too. We were all handed back the temporary IDs given to us shortly after we dressed. Apart from the Muscular Black Man and Tat Man, two others were with us: a brunette fella with a goofy grin short of a couple teeth, and a shorter blonde who seemed to be more like a boy than a man. I really hoped I didn't look as vulnerable as him, but the odds weren't much in my favor.

The other blonde and I accidentally made eye contact as we were dressing and he dipped his head in polite acknowledgment. Well golly, he didn't seem so bad. The again, I wasn't sure why he was here yet. In turn, the five of us deposited the clothes we had been wearing into plastic ziplock bags. Now the only reminder we had of the outside world was the skin on our backs, I thought dramatically. Miss Stevens waited rather impatiently for us to finish before courting us out to a vehicle. We drove together in the small van to the interior building, where the real prison was. It was finally happening. I was going to be in prison. For three years. What will this place do to me? Will I become a lowly filthy monster? Or will I manage to get some thicker skin and take care of myself for...365 plus 365 is… plus another 365… 1095 days?! Was that for real?

"Oi! Blondie! Stop daydreaming and get your ass outta the car!" Snapped Miss Stevens, who I was liking less and less. But it wasn't _entirely _her fault she had a shitty job, yeah? Either way, I scooted off the seat and onto the ground with an apologetic grimace. Somebody told me before I came here that if you're nice to the guards, you'll get more benefits than the others. And that definitely sounded like something I would need in this place.

The black guy in our group scoffed a little and slumped out of the van after me. He seemed surprisingly gentle, but I would be lying if I said I wasn't a little scared of him. His arms were _massive_ and little pink scars were littered all around them- one scar even went up his chin to crack through his full lower lip. He clearly had been in some brawls.

"What you looking at, sunshine?" He asked, his voice rich and deep. He didn't sound angry- almost as if the question were mandatory. But all the same, I stuttered into a shocked, awkward silence.

"I-I'm really s-s-sorry." I managed, fighting his gaze. "I don't want any trouble."

"Then stop looking like a deer caught in the headlights. I ain't gonna rape you, you know." He chuckled heartily, openly enjoying my panic. "The name's Token. Token Black." Was that some kind of joke? He held out his hand and after a frightening pause, I took it with as much firmness as I could muster.

"Leopold Stotch." I replied. "It's nice to know at least one person won't rape me." I couldn't help but warily look over at the brunette who seemed high off of something and clearly unstable. I was surprised to notice an eye patch covering his left eye socket. How had I not seen that before? Now I feel bad for thinking poorly of him.

"Just keep your head low and try your best to avoid any attention. You'll get by fine." Token continued. "You might want to get some tattoos or dye your hair or something though. Your looks won't do you any favors here."

I gulped slightly, aware that even for 25 I still looked no older than a senior in high school. He had a pretty logical point there, and I was thankful that someone here seemed to care about my well-being. "Thanks. I'll… keep that in mind."

"But, if someone does rape you, you just make sure you come crying to me." He winked, revealing an unnerving, mischievous smirk that made me highly doubt and question everything he had just told me.

"Uhh, right." I laughed awkwardly, a small bead of sweat forming at the side of my forehead. After the rest of our rag-tag group hopped out of the van, we followed Miss Stevens into the prison's interior walls. She lead us briskly down some bleach white walls, and other inmates were standing off to the sides as we walked around them. Several of them were eyeing me and the other blonde man up and down with an alarming look in their eyes. I'd rather not stick around to find out what their intentions were.

"Step in here." Miss Stevens informed me after she has come to a stop in front of a small door. She briskly ushered to the others to wait outside as I stepped forward nervously and pushed open the door. Inside was a camera and lights positioned and facing around a white backdrop. Behind a glass wall was a handsome man in his late twenties. He wore an identical

I stood and watched in silence as he approached me and walked around the glass panel. "Hi, I'm Stan Marsh. I'll be taking your ID picture." Before I could introduce myself he continued. "Step in front of the backdrop and face the camera. This will only take a second, I promise."

He gave me a reassuring smile before the lights flashed, and I decided I liked this Stan guy a lot. He seemed like he was concerned about me. I hoped this would be a trend here in prison.

A little while later, we stopped by the nurse's office and went through TB testing- not the skin kind, but the blood kind. I just hated needles, especially if it was for a blood test. The nurse was shaky and fidgety and missed my vein two times, causing me to really feel sore at those little brown eyes behind her pair of glasses. DOCTOR COTSWOLDS read her name plate. I hoped there was another nurse around here somewhere so I could visit them instead from now on.

Quickly after leaving the nurse, Miss Stevens shuffled me into another room, frowning at her watch. This room turned out to be an office similar to that of a principal's or a manager's. It was spacey but was surprisingly cluttered with junk and odd assortments that appeared to be collections. A stamp collection, beetle collection… there was even a lipstick collection, which was just plain weird since the person behind the desk was an older man. "I'm Mr. Mackey and I'll be your counselor for your time here, mmkay? Now- Leopold, was it? Leopold, why are you here in prison?"

"Umm." I sat down in the chair in front of him. "I-Isn't that on file?"

"Well, yes, but do YOU know why you're here?" He elaborated, picking up a ball point pen from an array of different types and flipping open a file marked STOTCH, LEOPOLD. Well that was plain embarrassing.

"Yeah, I know." I sighed. "I did somethin' pretty bad."

"Mmkay. And what was that, exactly?"

"I robbed s-some jewelry stores in Nebraska, Kansas, Oklahoma… Texas, I think, and New Mexico. Pawned the jewelry off in different states. F-Finally me an' my partner got caught robbing a bank h-here in Colorado." I stated as emotionlessly as I could.

"Why did you rob jewelry stores and a bank, Leopold? Do you know?"

"Yeah, 'course I do!" I stated a little defensively. "We both needed the money. Both of us were pretty decent fellas back in college, but I was gettin' nowhere with my major in art and Dougie… well, he was just tired of being so straight-laced all the time. So one night we decided to try robbing a nearby 7-11. Just to see if w-we could. Well, as it turns out, we were caught on camera. So… we just ran for it. And kept running until we had hit the next state over. It wasn't all that smart, I know, but each time we snuck out in the middle of the night to steal… It was just so exhilarating. Pretty soon, the money wasn't the reason anymore. We just wanted to see how much we could get away with. Before we got caught."

"Well, it's good that you know why you're here. Mmkay, that's real good. Tell me a little bit about your family life." Mr Mackey was writing down a lot of what I had said, though I wasn't sure why. He had it all on file, after all.

"I-I'm an only child." I started. "Both my parents are alive and well. They… they have pretty high expectations for me, so they were real sore when they found out about… you know, my stealing and such. When I got arrested I was more or less disowned from the family. But… truth be told, I'm kinda glad I was. Ever since m-my dad found out about me likin' m-men he's been trying ta f-fix me. We got in a pretty big arguement before I went to college."

"Mmkay. Will either of your parents be signed up on the PSI then? That's for visiting hours on every Saturday." The counselor replied a little insensitively.

"Um, no. Well, maybe my mom. Linda Stotch. And my Aunt Nelly." I said slowly, mulling over the list of people I knew and coming up with a grand zero. Dougie had been my only college friend, and he was sent to another prison in Colorado. My high school friends and I were never close, and we didn't talk often anymore.

"Mmkay, I'll give you some forms for them and after you they're filled out I'll give you a PAC number. You can call your family during phone hours and discuss visitation with them then." Mr. Mackey drilled me in, rifling through a stack of papers before handing me some. At least now I had something to pass the time with.

"Now," he continued. "This prison isn't terrible. I promise you that gang rape rarely happens here. The most that will probably happen to you will be robbing, and probably some men will try to move in on you from time to time, mmkay. Tensions heighten the longer you're in prison for, so watch out for that. Some inmates might try to use you as a punching bag, or might try to rape you in the showers. Try your best not to let them, mmkay? The guards will usually catch most of it, but we can't prevent everything. STDs are a huge issue in prison, and the only way we've managed to successfully contain it is by having protection readily available in the bathrooms. Your health is our number one priority, mmkay? Don't forget that."

The weight of our conversation sat upon my shoulders heavily. Suddenly, I wasn't feeling so optimistic about prison after all. "A-A-Alright."

"Mmkay. You're better get going then. Inspection is coming up pretty soon, and it'd be real bad if you were late. Don't forget that orientation is in the morning."

And with that, I stood up and left the peculiar man's equally peculiar office and hurried outside. Only to slam into Miss Stevens.

"Inmate! Back the FUCK off!" She snarled at me, brushing off her jacket sleeves angrily.

"Oh gosh! I'm so so sorry!" I yelped, praying to Jesus, Mary, and Joseph that I wasn't smacked down and killed right then and there.

"Do it again, Stotch. I dare you." Miss Stevens swept her long blonde hair back and marched on crossly. "Warren, Donovan, _Stotch._ You'll be staying in Room B. Pirrup and Black, you'll be in Room E over there. Stand by your bunk when the light overhead flashes unless you want to get written up. A guard with come around and click you in. Move one _inch_ from your spot by your bunk and there'll be problems. Understand?"

I nodded in response but felt idiotic since the only the other blonde inmate acknowledged her as well. Respect apparently wasn't how to make friends here. I really couldn't do anything right, could I?

We watched as Token and the blonde boy, Pirrup?, walked after Miss. Stevens. The Tat Man and Eyepatch Guy walked inside Room B with me.

We weren't alone. Inside were two other men, both of whom reminded me a lot of Tat Man, who was named either Warren or Donovan. The two in the room both had pale faces and sullen expressions, but one had red streaks in his hair that were quickly fading out and the other was a good two feet shorter than it looked like he should be. The Short One had a strange dragon tattoo on his cheekbone that stretched and curled along the right side of his face. He looked up from a book he was reading to size us up.

"Look at these posers." He sniffed, curling his lip up at us mockingly. "That blond one looks like a total fag."

"H-Hey!" I exclaimed, startled.

"Chill out, dude. Firkle's just teasing you. But really. Who the fuck are you people?" The red-haired man drawled, and I noticed that unlike the three of us these two had on tan outfits. I couldn't help but envy that a little.

"W-Well, I'm Leopold Stotch." I responded nervously, looking over to my two companions. I felt closer to these two now that they were the only people I even remotely knew here. I had a haunch that I was the only one that could feel this bond, however.

"I'm Michael Warren." Replied Tat Man with a cough. He moved towards the bottom bunk that was underneath 'Firkle', apparently claiming that as his own.

"I'm Clyde Donovan." Eyepatch Guy piped up, grabbing an extra pillow from below and tossing it up to where he was assumingly sleeping. I supposed I would take the bed underneath him.

"This is Firkle, and I'm Pete." Redhead stated simply, watching as we set up our pitiful sheets and pillowcases. "If any of you try to fuck him, I will knife you in your sleep. Got that? I got him into prison, therefore he's my responsibility."

Firkle finally payed attention. "You didn't GET me into prison, retard. I got me into prison when I raped that cop's daughter."

Pete huffed audibly. "Well, DUH. But if I hadn't punched the cop in the face and then pissed on him, you wouldn't have felt inspired to sleep with her. Therefore, my fault."

"Frankly, if you HADN'T flipped out on that damn cop, I would have. He was insulting our culture and claimed that our local heavy metal band had stolen a cover from Whitechapel. Clearly anyone would've pissed on his bleeding face after that." Firkle summed up, satisfied with his logic.

"Whoa, you two are apeshit crazy!" Donovan cut in, his mouth forming an amazed little 'o'. "I would never do something as awful as that to someone!"

"Oh yeah, poser? Why ARE you here, then?" Pete snickered, not seeming very offended by Clyde's comment.

"It all started at one of my frat parties." Clyde began, leaping up on his made bed creakily. "My friend and I were pretty high, and he dared me to walk around our town entirely naked. So I did. It was really funny how people would react- ladies would cover their kid's faces with their hands, people would whistle… I'm pretty well-endowed, so I didn't really have anything to worry about anyway. But some cops eventually heard of the guy running around naked, so I decided to go for a little road trip. 'Cause even stone cold sober it was fun watching people panic over something as simple as a naked dude. I went all the way from Washington to Colorado naked before I was caught. I was high at the time of my arrest, so I was a little violent. Kneed a copper in the balls, apparently. But my sentence is pretty short, so I'm not all that worried."

I was in awe of the dopey brunette before me and these two darker men. Compared to their crazy stories, my thievery was about as interesting as the nightly news channel.

"What an idiot." Pete laughed, and before Donovan could respond with a sharp retort, the light overhead flashed. "Aw, shit. Get outta bed you naked loser before the guard gets here!"

Clyde flew out of his bed and stood next to me comically. Despite his rather ignorant reasons for being here, he was alright. Maybe a little slow and not really my type, but that was forgivable. I was a little nervous about Pete and Firkle though. They didn't seem like people I wanted to upset, considering I didn't want to get piss on my wounds or my family raped.

I was a little relieved when it was Stan who came through to check us in. He gave me a small smile and a worried crease of the brow before disappearing. Shortly after he left, Miss. Stevens came in to double-check us, and gave me a not-so-worried glare. I was glad when she disappeared.

"S-So now what?" I asked the room, cautious about addressing anyone outright.

"Now, we eat dinner." Pete informed as Firkle bookmarked his page. "Come on, Blondie. Tonight's lasagna."

We stalked out of the room with the other inmates and all migrated towards the cafeteria. Faces swirled around me in a dizzying blur, and I chose to stick close to Clyde and Michael. We reached the cafeteria and I was shocked to see other fellow inmates working the kitchen.

"Hey, um… Pete?" I addressed the pale man, who looked up at me questioningly.

"What?"

"Can anyone work in the k-kitchen?"

"Why? You wanna be a housewife too?" He snickered. "Yeah, if there's a spot open. You'll have to talk to… Actually, that might not be a very good idea."

"Huh? Why not?"

"The head chef is absolutely insane."

"What? He can't be that bad…"

"No, really. You didn't hear this from me, but there's something seriously messed up with him." Pete insisted, casting a wary look towards the kitchen.

"I heard he killed a woman. Just 'cause." Firkle added, a glimmer of excitement in his eyes. "Asked him how his day was and snap! That was the end of her!"

"No way…" I breathed, terrified of the person that would be making my meals from now on.

I thought about skipping dinner, but my impending hunger eventually won me over. I filed in line next to Clyde. Two men were serving us our food- one was very plain-looking and had light brown hair, and the other was striking. He too seemed rather simple, but instead of looking ordinary like the other, he was almost elegant. He had dark midnight hair and icy blue eyes. Long slender fingers encased the serving spoon as he served me some questionable broccoli. He was tall, thin, and seemed extremely serious about handing out the perfect serving sizes. I would've thought he was perfect if not for the subdued animalistic fire in his light blue eyes. We were in prison, and he was almost certainly dangerous. Just keep walking, Leopold.

After I got my helping of dinner, I had the very immediate issue of where to sit. It was like high school antics all over again. I sighed and scoped out my odds this time.

Over at the closest table was the 'black clan'. Normally, there would be NO white people there whatsoever, but to my surprise there was, not just one, but _two_ white men in the very center of the table, laughing like they couldn't be happier. I'm not a racist or anything, but I thought racial segregation was how you identified yourself in prison. Apparently not in _this _prison. And these two weren't just white either. One had a pair of crutches carefully placed underneath his seat, and the other was in an actual wheelchair. This prison seemed a lot nicer than I first thought! Maybe I should go sit by them.

But as I approached the odd group, I heard a low hiss and they all turned to stare at me incredulously. "What the hell are you d-d-d-doing here?" Spoke the man with the crutches.

"Uh.." I looked around at the men, who all looked ready to jump and shiv me. "... I-I'm sorry!" I squeaked and backed away. Gosh, that was embarrassing. Note to self: the only cool black person here so far is Token. Where _was _Token? I hadn't spotted him over at that table. I scanned around.

The first person aside from Token I looked for was Clyde, and at first I thought he had disappeared too, but he was leaning against a table talking to that really attractive guy serving food. Well, more like talking _at _him. The kitchen guy didn't seem too involved in what Clyde had to say. I smiled a little and looked back at the tables. A massive man with enormous biceps had decided to sit across from Firkle, Pete, and Michael, who were looking extremely irritated. Another man resembling the three darker guys was on the edge of the table next to the bulky guy. I couldn't see either of their faces from this angle. At another table sat Pirrup and, low and behold, Token, who seemed very uninterested in the blonde before him. The cafeteria was very crowded, and I couldn't tell much from the other faces I saw, so I decided to play it safe and sit by Firkle, Pete, and Michael.

"H-Hey guys." I greeted, sliding next to the huge man after a moment's hesitation. He won't kill you, Leopold. no matter how huge his hands are…

"Finally." Pete sighed, looking at me with subdued amusement. "I thought you were going to shit yourself over there. Why the _hell_ would you approach the Black Table like that?"

"Yeah, dude. You've got to have some seriously balls for that." The massive man to my left rumbled. I glanced at him as nonchalantly as I could muster and nearly wet myself, much to my horror. He had a mop of messy light brown hair and dark jaded eyes- his expression so sharp he could have been in a war. His torso was enormous- not in an overweight way, but in a 'I Will Pulverize You' way. But what had startled me was his skin. Bruises shaded his jaw and right eye socket, and his lip had been recently busted open. He was even missing a canine. This guy truly looked like he belonged behind bars, and it rattled me to the bone that he was less than a foot away. "Don't ever approach the Black Table unless you have a clean-cut plan." He continued, noting and ignoring my analysis of him.

"Why is it the Black Table if there's…" I trailed off, uncertain of how to state my question without sounding like a racist asshole.

"If there's to white guys crippled as shit in the center?" The scary man finished, laughing at me in a booming way. "Those two are hardcore. Like, seriously twisted. They might even be a part of the mob or something. Don't let their appearances fool you." He lowered his voice. "They use their appearance to elicit pity. And when you back is turned… it's lights out for you. Truly terrifying." He snickered. "I'm Eric, by the way. Eric Cartman."

"Oh, well it's nice to meet you, Cartman! I'm Leopold Stotch." I cheered up, deciding to give this guy the benefit if the doubt. He seemed nice, at least.

"It's Eric. Call me Cartman again and you'll be sucking my dick each mealtime." He stated flatly, flitting his cold eyes to meet mine.

"Oh wow! I-I'm real sorry about that!" I gasped.

"I'm real sorry about that, _Eric._ Say it." He snapped stabbing a fork into his lasagna.

"I-I'm real s-sorry about that, Eric." I obeyed, trying to convey that I wasn't a threat.

"Good. Now give me half of your food."

"I...well… okay…" I resigned, scraping exactly one half of my food portions onto his plate. I don't think I like sitting here very much.

"Now, you Depressed Emo Fag Guys," Eric began, getting angry glares in response. "I need your help. Tucker's pretty scared by my higher status over him, so I think he's going to be getting some fuck buddies to help him gang rape me or something. Which means _I_ need to do it first. Now, I know you guys are like totally gay and don't care about anyone but yourselves, but I need you to get your heads out of your asses and help a brother out. You just need to be a part of my gang so we can rape him. It's not a big deal."

Pete groaned and face-palmed. "No way, dude. You have Thorn. Give him some matches or something and spout some satanist bullcrap and he'll be at your beck and call. There's no way we'd rape anybody just so you could maintain your faggy little popularity."

"At least, not another guy." Firkle added nonchalantly.

"Fine, fine, I get the idea." Eric sniffed, trying to show us how hurt he was. "Don't help your friend Eric. It's not like he's ever listened to our retarded problems anyway or kept us company."

"That's right. You haven't." Pete stated in a deadpan tone.

"Well fuck all of you too! Me and Thorne will go plan out the end times and the extermination of the Jews!" Eric snapped, standing briskly. "You know, blondie, you seem pretty hardcore for having a babyface. You can tag along too."

"S-Sorry, Eric. I wouldn't know t-the first thing about r-raping anybody." I stammered, hiding my face behind my fork.

"What're you in for, anyway?" He asked rather cockily.

"R-Robbery."

"Oh? What'd you take?"

"Jewelry an' m-money. From a bank."

Eric's eyes glittered. "You can pick locks then?"

"Yeah, I'd say so. Dougie did most of 'em, b-but he taught me the basics."

"I'll be seeing you later, then." He said cryptically, and left without another word. The dark-haired boy who had been silent this whole time followed him obediently.

I watched as Eric and Thorne left, and suddenly something else caught my attention. At the table to our left was a man. He was blonde, young, and entirely alone. His face was lean and strong, and his clothes seemed too baggy for him, despite seeming to be the smallest size. His eyes were piercing and his dirty blonde hair was just past his ears and shaggy, but in a rough, attractive way. His eyes seemed weathered, like he had seen and been through a lot and as I looked closer, I could see that the cartilage on one of his ears was heavily pierced. He seemed pretty content with sitting alone. I watched as the nice guard I had met before, Stan Marsh, walked past him with a small smile. An object covered by a napkin was handed off to the man, who gave an appreciative grin in return. He hid the package underneath his table, but judging from the food he ate moments later, it was safe to say that someone had gotten a second desert.

"That's one you gotta watch out for." Pete stated, noticing my gaze. "That's McCormick. I know he doesn't look like much, but he's an animal when he's upset. He's been sent to solitary more times than even Eric. And, to top it off…" His voice quieted to a whisper. "He finds ways of _escaping_. Frequently. He just… disappears sometimes. And then weeks later he'll come back with an added sentence and some cracked ribs. Loads of people have tried beating him up for his secret, but like I said before, the guy is a total beast. No one knows how he gets out of the prison, and most people have given up trying to get answers out of him. It's just not smart to go fucking with McCormick. He and Eric have gone toe to toe several times, but never very seriously. But I bet if they got in an actual fight, Kenny would be the first to kick that bastard's ass."

"No way." Firkle cut in. "McCormick's a twig. Eric would crush him, hands down."

"Eric's only got brute strength though. McCormick's real fast, and always hits first, and hits hard. He's a witty asshole too. You forgetting that time he and I fought over the showers? He plays _dirty_."

"Yeah, but you're a pushover dude."

"Hey!"

I had lost interest in their friendly banter and glanced back at McCormick. He really was an interesting fella. And his piercing made him look pretty cute in an almost punky way.

"Does he hang out with anybody?" I interrupted suddenly, snapping the two out of their heated discussion.

"Who, McCormick? Not really. Like I said, most people are pretty wary of him because of his knack for fighting. I think everyone's a little bitter too- it's been years since any of us have gotten out from behind these fences. McCormick seems to come and go as he pleases. It causes a little resentment from the best of us." Pete changed the subject. "Anyway, you better finish your food, Dinner's over in a couple minutes.

Crap. He was right. I shoveled the remainder of my not-so-delicious meal down and walked through the crowd back to Room B. Shortly after we got settled in for the night, Stan popped by.

"So guys, I'm reminding you that tomorrow morning at 8:30 you have orientation. So wake up before that if you want to shower and have a breakfast. Also, after you get back from orientation, your new dorm rooms will be posted on your door here. I think all of you in Room B have a roommate, but don't quote me on that. Breakfast will start at seven and end at nine, but unlike other meals, you can leave breakfast at any time. We have a guest showing up for your orientation tomorrow, so try to be respectful. I have a feeling it'll be a little challenging this time…" Stan looked away and cracked a secretive grin. "Anyway, sleep well and don't be late for orientation! Here's a toothbrush, toothpaste, and some deodorant for you guys. Normally guards don't give this stuff to you at all, but I don't want to be totally heartless." He paused. "So if you rat me out, I'll give you a shot. Alright?"

This time, everyone nodded respectfully. "Good. Have a nice night everyone." And with that, he left.

After the many stealing speeches I've been given today, I hid my toothbrush, paste, and deodorant protectively in my pillowcase before laying down. It made my pillow a little lumpy, but the extra security was worth it. I kicked my legs out childishly in front of me and mulled everything over.

A lot had happened today. This place was so real, so depressing it was an undeniably hard adjustment. I didn't like constantly assuming my peers were up to no good, but if I didn't… I wouldn't have changed. All those times I was taken advantage of, bullied, used as somebody else's scapegoat… They would mean nothing if I continued to turn a blind eye and let it happen. I had to grow up already and take control of my own life. And right now, my own decisions led me here.

A thumping overhead snapped me out of my thoughts. Was Clyde having a violent nightmare or something? But the creaking was so rhythmic, it was almost like…

"D-Donovan? Are you...?!"

"Aahh… Hah.."

"H-Hey! D-Do that somewhere else!"

"Hold on… almost…"

I shot out of bed and through one of my flimsy shoes up at him in frustration.

"Ow! Ah… Ha!" The bunk bed stilled. Suddenly, I regretted throwing my shoe up there.

"N-Next time warn me a little first."

"Sure thing, hon."

I woke up that morning at around 7:00 AM feeling sore and tired. I'm one of those people that has to sleep on their stomachs, no matter the occasion. And apparently last night my lumpy pillow waged a war against the side of my neck and won. Sleeping in was something I was going to miss here.

The showers were a living nightmare. Privacy was a luxury that had no place in prison- even most of the toilet stalls didn't have doors. I was always self-conscious about my body- I didn't want to do anything in here. But I buckled down and stripped, praying to God no one would take advantage of me, before stepping into a shower. Apparently warm water and clean shower floors were other luxuries too refined for prison. To top it off, men were yelling at me to hurry after only two minutes of being in there. I sat down on a wooden bench and dried off next to Michael, who chuckled as I widened my eyes at a black spore living at the base of a sink.

But suddenly, in stepped something much more interesting than my black spiky sink companion. McCormick, the blonde who had sat by himself at dinner had walked in the shower room with us. I was immediately aware that I was staring, but I couldn't help it; the mysterious man had managed to capture my intrigue. Without a hint of shame he stripped in front of everyone and sat down on the bench directly beside me. He held his clothes in a loose ball and take this moment to look at me for perhaps the first time.

I was speechless in his deep, dark blue gaze.

"Who are you, Newbie?" He spoke, his voice velvety and tranquil. He didn't seem as scary as everyone said- in fact, his syrupy voice seemed to calm me down and make me feel even more self-aware than before.

"I… I'm… Stotch. Leopold Stotch." I finally managed, my tongue behaving like cooked spaghetti.

"Scotch? As in, the candy?" He asked, gracing me with a warming smirk.

"Um, no. Stotch with a 't'." I clarified, feeling like the world's biggest smartass.

"I like it. You kind of look like butterscotch too." He went on. "You know, you hair is all bright and blonde and whatnot. It suits you."

"Uh, th-thank you." I felt my face get hot, and couldn't help but fight off the beginnings of an embarrassing problem.

"Oh." He said simply. I panicked, certain he noticed my hard-on. "A shower's open. I guess I'll see you around, Butterscotch." He purred into my ear and departed abruptly, leaving me to watch his retreating… naked… self.

"You really have a boner for that guy, huh?" Michael spoke up, causing me to jump a little.

"No! I just find him i-interesting. He's so… content by himself. You know?"

"Not really, no."

I sighed and quickly to get changed before anyone noticed my slight arousal.

* * *

**So that's is for Chapter 1! I apologize if this chapter was boring because of introductions and stuff- we still have quite a few more to go! And Butters' perspective won't be the only one told from. But he's one of the two main characters, and therefore relevant. I hope to improve my writing and stories in any way I can, so while I don't demand reviews, they are greatly appreciated. If any of the characters seem a little OOC, I kind of did that on purpose. These guys are in their twenties and thirties now, so I had to 'mature' them a little. Even though they're probably pretty immature since they ended up in prison xD Anyway, thank you so much for reading this chapter. I really appreciate you just taking the time to read this and give it a chance. I love you guys~ 3**


	2. Kill Everybody

**A Note From The Author: … And suddenly Chapter 2 happened. I was pretty happy from the way the first chapter had been received, so I decided to just keep writing~ You guys are extremely sweet, and it was heart-warming to read your reviews. And yeah, the title's pretty dramatic. I know. But hey, I'm thinking that's the feeling you get when you finally 'stick it to the man'. Like a, "Yeah! I'm taking care of myself by punching you in da face!" sort of thing. Yeah. Kill Everybody! -by Skrillex.**

**To my Guests: Craig has certainly been on my mind a lot lately- when I first began writing for South Park, I was a little unsure about how his friendships with the other boys worked, so I spent a lot of time reading fanfiction about him to understand who he is. At first, I was all for the Creek pairing, but as I dug into the character of Clyde, I began realizing the potential there, probably much to your dismay! So I think I'll let Craig figure out who he wants to be with when the opportunity presents itself~ (I'm pretty torn myself) As for whether or not Craig gets raped… Oh man, your request was so cute, I had to chuckle a little xD I wouldn't worry about him. He's a pretty tough guy, after all. To the other Guest, I'm glad you enjoy the prison theme~ xD Kyle's entrance will take a few more chapters (I want Butters' "newness" to wear off a little first), but I promise it will be worth the wait. Kyle's one of my most favorite characters to portray, and I basically came up with this fanfiction just so he could have some shining, and (hopefully) saddening moments. Things will also probably get a lot more heavier after he arrives, much to his dismay~ ;)**

**To twoshotsofvodka: I'm so grateful for your input! I hadn't noticed the Stan hiccup, so I'm really glad you brought that to my attention. I'll be careful to make his second introduction (to Kyle, that is) stand out- especially since this is also a Style fic xD And I absolutely agree with you in terms of Kyle not being a submissive character; it's really saddening when writers just choose to embrace the 'oh, he's probably the bottom' aspect of him, and don't consider that he's a bit of a spitfire in the actual cartoon. I really want to embrace his anger later on (which will very much shape where this story is going) and actually let it out. Because he's already in prison, and kind of now has the right to get into spats~ xD**

**And a huge thank you to sirius1696 and XxDarkSarcasm1010xX for your reviews :) You're the best!**

**Please note that this chapter might be a bit harsh because of: VIOLENCE, RAPE THEMES, LANGUAGE, & GENERAL GAYNESS. ;)**

**Also note that before writing this fanfiction, I spent several days perfecting each and every character's backstory. Just because a character didn't talk about their reasons for being in prison yet **_**doesn't mean it won't eventually be found out later on**_**. With some of the more… touchy ones, I plan on waiting until that character's ready to discuss it. I tried to stay true to the character's habits and personalities without going the typical route (an example being how Tweek is almost always perceived as having issues with substance abuse, especially in party settings. I'll admit, when I first came up with the prison idea my mind jumped there for him immediately. But that's already been told before, and I want this story to be something memorable. So surprise! xD). ALSO, I felt inconsiderate for not pointing out the last names I gave for Pete, Michael, and Firkle. Their last names were never mentioned so I had to make them up as Pete Stenson, Michael Warren, and Firkle Davidson.**

CHAPTER 2: KILL EVERYBODY

"This screwdriver was stolen from the toolbelt of a repair man. It was used to gouge out a man's eyes and was violently shoved up his rectum. The guilty inmate is now locked up in solitary and has been in there for three months. If I find any weapons on you, I'll boot you down there too, understand?" Mr. Marsh stood in front of our gaggle of plastic chairs with a worn expression on his face. He seemed several decades older than he actually was, but considering the undoubted stress from his job I couldn't help but feel a pang of pity for him.

Orientation had been going on for about thirty minutes now. We had watched a hopeful man on an old tv screen tell us about the opportunities for fitness, education, recreation, and pastimes here in prison. Clyde had found the film so hilarious he had started snorting. Miss Stevens had slapped him quite harshly with a handful of her paperwork until he fell silent.

I was growing increasingly worried about where my dorm would be and, more importantly, who I would be sharing it with. I had decided pretty early on that someone like Cartman or any black people (excluding Token) would probably beat me to a bloody pulp or worse, and I was hating the idea of not getting along with someone I'd be living with.

"Thank you, Mr. Marsh." Chimed out a woman's polished voice. It definitely wasn't Miss Stevens, so I turned with everyone else to get a look at the new person who had joined us. She was simply gorgeous; long sleek black hair, striking brown eyes, and skin like milk. She certainly didn't look like she fit in here amongst us scuffy inmates at all. "Hello, everyone. My name is Wendy Testaburger. I'm the prison warden here at the Colorado Department of Corrections. I'll be telling you a little about how things work around here and what we expect from you. Most prisons don't agree with mixing lifers in with the rest of you, but I think it's an eye-opening opportunity for you to reflect on where you want go after your stay here. Hopefully being around them will allow you to see that prison should not be your final destination. Never forget that you always have a chance to strive above what people expect from you and make a life better for yourself and others. Until you get a life sentence and fuck up your parol." She gave us a strained 'I'm joking' smile that seemed ineffective.

"Now, Stan talked to you about health threats and what violates the ground rules we have here-"

"I know what I want to violate." Mumbled a younger prisoner from the back of the room, earning a few snickers.

"Broflovski." Miss Testaburger sighed. "You just got out of solitary. Are you really that anxious to get back in?"

I angled my head slightly so I could get a better view of this 'Broflovski' in my peripheral vision. He was undeniably a Canadian, though I couldn't place why I knew that to be so, and had a pretty smug expression on his face. Back home, my dad would probably refer to him as a 'Wise Guy'.

He was silent and let Wendy continue her speech. "As I was saying, you will each get to sign up for an elective job here in prison. Such jobs include kitchen duty, bathroom duty, mopping hallways floors, fixing electrical outages, helping in the AIDS wards, as well as other options. This is so you can help pitch in around prison and learn some handy skills you can use once your terms have been served. It's an opportunity you should take with all seriousness."

Clyde stood suddenly and threw his arms out, shocking the rest of us. "Look, are you almost finished? 'Cause some of us got better things to do."

Wendy's almond eyes narrowed menacingly. "Sit. _Down. _Donovan. Or I swear to God you'll be cleaning clogged up shit out of toilets for the next month."

He sat down angrily and Miss Testaburger then went on to discuss visitation rights and how commissary was handled (I was surprised to learn that under no circumstances were we allowed to actually touch physical bills or coins). "Now, that about does it. When you get back to your rooms, you'll find a list on your door telling you where your new dorms are. You cannot request roommates, but if you have a legitimate reason you can move to a different dorm. Stop by my office if you have any legal questions or issues with how the prison is run."

And with that, we were dismissed. I made my way back to my room, feeling more than a little sad to be leaving my strange assortment of roomies, glad to be leaving Clyde's nightly habits behind, and anxiously excited to meet my new roommate. I prayed multiple times for God to be merciful and give me someone with even just a few morals.

The beaten wooden door to our room was huddled around as Clyde, Michael, Pete, and Firkle scanned the little sheet of yellow paper. "Looks like you've got one of the newbies, Donovan. Cube 12 is empty." I heard Pete announce.

"Oh _shit_…" He hissed, looking back at the paper.

"W-What?" I asked, walking up to them and joining the cluster.

"I feel sorry for you man. You're screwed." Pete let out a humorless chuckle, looking at me with a twinge of pity.

"Huh? W-Why?!" I demanded, looking at the yellow sheet. But the words 'Dorm A Cube 24' told me nothing but where I was headed.

Pete rolled his eyes at my rising panic. "Your roommate's the guy from the night before. I'd really watch what I say around him- he's apeshit crazy. His last roommate offed himself, and for weeks after he'd just sit there on his bed and talk to him like he was still there. There's just something not right about him."

"Guy from the night before…?" I asked, not sure if he was referring to Eric, McCormick, or even Thorn. But Pete just smirked, relishing my fevered terror, and stalked off.

I frowned in irritation before ducking around everyone to get in and retrieve my measly belongings. Despite only letting us take in whatever fit in a large envelope, I was thankful for the pictures of my family and the old letters from my one and only ex-girlfriend back in highschool, Lexus. Even though we had ended things rather quickly, I still read through the letters to remind myself that, at one point in time, someone liked me enough to let me know. They always managed to pick me up a little whenever I was in a funk. The photos of my parents made me feel a little guilty, but I also liked being reminded that I had a life once out there that, yeah, had its faults, but it wasn't _absolutely _terrible. The pictures of Dougie and I were just silly little reminders of my not-so-distant college life.

I picked up my envelope of 'personal items' and awkwardly clutched my newly acquired cleaning products I had stashed from the night before and headed for this 'Dorm A Cube 24', juggling the items stubbornly before giving up and carrying them in a temporary sack made from the front of my uniform. I got a few curious looks down the hallway and someone I didn't even know slapped my bum and whistled at me. It was extremely embarrassing and I fast-walked the rest of my way to the Dorms with a red face. It took me a while, but I finally found the right washed-out hallway to turn down and was greeted with rows and rows of small stone cubicles. The 'walls' only went up to about my shoulder, and there were no doors. So that's how they kept an eye on us at night. A big blocky 'A' was spray painted on the side of the first hallway opening, letting me know which cluster of cubicles I belonged to. I went in and walked down the rows of sleeping areas, pleased to see that instead of clanky bunk beds we had two separate, unattached ones. I still felt pretty traumatized from last night's fiasco with Clyde.

20… 22… 24. I was finally at my new 'home'. I peered in between the stony walls curiously. There was no one there. Whoever my roommate was must be out. I took that moment to survey the cubicle. It was pretty plain like most of the others, but there was a surprising amount of personal items. Books and magazines were stacked on a rickety end table hastily- like they were _normally_ neat, but had been read through recently and a bout of laziness had prevented returning them to their proper place. A poster for NASCAR was stuck to the wall, somewhat crookedly. Several intricate drawings were also taped on his side of the room too, and next to them were pictures of a girl, her age varying in each picture. She was young and beautiful with a sunny smile. It was safe to say she was a sister or a family friend of some sort. Suddenly, I felt terribly dirty for snooping through this man's stuff. However I still grinned when I noticed his pillowcase, which had bottle openers and corks lining the sides of a barrel-esque wooden pattern. It's funny how the little things tell so much about us.

I moved silently over to the cold, empty bed that would be mine. It was sad how little character it had next to my roommate's. I'd have to buy some things to make it more lively when commissary rolled by, or if my Aunt Nelly sent me things from the outside.

I set down my measly things and opened the drawer of my own rickety end table, which was identical to his. As I began putting away my deodorant, toothpaste, and what have you, I heard a surprised "Oh".

"Butterscotch. I didn't know you'd be my new roomie."

McCormick. McCormick was the person I'd be living with from now on. A flame of excitement brewed in my chest, quelling slightly when I realized what that meant. _He_'s the crazy guy Pete was talking about?

"Oh, hey! Y-Yeah, I suppose so." I gave him my best wary look. "Y-You're not going to try anything funny at night, are you?"

He grinned sheepishly. "You caught me. When everyone's asleep, I put on a pair of ladies underwear and beat off."

"...HUH?"

"I'm just dicking with you." McCormick laughed, sitting down casually on his bed. "Try not to take what I say too seriously." Changing the subject, he spoke again. "So how's prison treating you? The slammer's a blast, isn't it? I remember my first week here was just pure hell. Adjusting to the cafeteria food was awful, the people at the time were a lot tougher than this lot, and it seemed like _everyone_ was trying to shove their dicks in my ass. Which I can't say I mind much now, heh, but back then it was pretty scarring. Us blondes have to watch our backs." He winked at me, which made me smile a little. He wasn't scary at all. Pete must've been trying to make me nervous.

"T-That hasn't happened to me yet." I began, hoping he'd say more so I'd get an idea of what was in store for me. He did.

"Well, back then everyone was pretty upfront about it. Now… shit, it's a lot more terrifying. You get on good terms with a guy, right? And then the next week he'll be asking favors from you, just for being nice at the right time. Pretty soon, you've got his dick in your mouth and you're in the AIDS Ward. Just remember, Butterscotch, _nothing _is free here." McCormick snickered, opening his drawer and taking out, of all things, a Kit-Kat. He broke it in half and grinned. "On that note, want some?"

I blinked, unsure if he was just joking again or trying to prove an awful point. "Uhh…"

"Look, I'm not like them." He said, gesturing for me to sit next to him before handing me the sweet. "I've been here for eight years. I have a life sentence, too. Up for parole in seven, but I don't have high hopes in that department. I know I'm going to live my whole life here until I die. So, you can say I've kind of given up on these people. I don't want to become what this place expects me to be. And that's why you can trust me."

"Shit." I murmured, feeling awful for him. His life was basically over. But I wouldn't tell him that. "But, I mean, y-you haven't gone through parole yet. Maybe you'll get settled down on a nice enough job and get back on track. Sure, it's a long shot, but it's still a shot nonetheless!"

He chuckled, breaking my heart slightly. "Well, fuck. That's probably the first time I've heard someone tell me that since I got here. You're not bad, Butterscotch. Hey, what're you up to today?"

"Umm, I don't think I'm doing anything. I mean, the only thing I've been told I have this week is signing up for work later this afternoon." I replied, unsure of where this was going as I plopped the melting half of Kit-Kat in my mouth. God, that was good.

"Do you have any idea what job you want?" He asked, bringing his knees up to his chest and rocking slightly. It was a little odd, but hey, this was the slammer. This morning I saw a guy lick Mr. Marsh's hand seductively. Weirder things have happened.

"Well, I used to be interested in being a chef before I decided to get an Art major, so I was thinking maybe I'd work in the kitchen. But Stenson and Davidson told me it probably wasn't a good idea, so I'm not so sure." I explained, looking over just in time to see McCormick frown.

"Were they talking about the staff?" He asked seemingly moodily.

"Yeah, th-they said the head chef k-killed a lady." I said with a tone of seriousness, not sure whether this was true or another prank.

"He's just a little jumpy." McCormick shrugged. "If he had the proper medication, he probably would've left her alone."

My jaw dropped on the floor, and I took a moment to pick it up. "Y-Y-You're… serious? Th-That actually happened?"

McCormick cast an anxious glance to the ceiling before looking back at me. "Well, yeah. Not sure if I should tell you or if he should, but what the hell. We all know, so you're bound to find out too one way or another. Tweak has a bit of a bipolar problem. They've been trying for ages to get his dosage right, but he said that he only got worse with the namebrand shit he was given at the time. His mood swings were getting pretty severe, and the day before that he was mugged. Stripped of his clothes and his phone, watch, and wallet were stolen. He was pretty jittery the next day. So, he's walking to his work, right? And a woman greets him on the side of the road. Well, he didn't see her until she said hello and he screams and snaps her neck. Just like that. He was surprised and flipped out, and all the neighbors saw. He has a life sentence like me."

My mouth was still slightly open in shock. This was nothing as light-hearted as running around state to state naked. "I-Is he taking his proper medication?!"

"Well, now. Yeah, he's actually really good considering he killed a woman and all. Hasn't wailed on anyone here except for the first couple of months he was in. Plus, he managed to befriend that ex-cop Cartman hates so much." McCormick snickered, clearly imagining the large man's angry red face.

"E-Eric would be mad if he heard you c-callin' him Cartman, you know." I began nervously, casting a glance around to make sure no one overheard.

"Good. Only his true enemies call him 'Cartman'." McCormick stated simply, as it was a well-known fact. "Hey, how about I introduce you? Tweak won't flip out, I swear. He's a good guy now."

I couldn't help but grip the sheets nervously. "M-Maybe later. But you could show me around the place, i-if you want."

"Fine by me."

We made for the door. "S-So, McCormick, what do you do around here?"

"As a job? I work in the library. It's quiet, simple, and I don't have to put up with people there. I like it." He had a fond smile on his face. "And it's Kenny."

"Alright, Kenny then."

"Do you want me to stop calling you Butterscotch?" He asked suddenly, as we were headed out of the Dorm area.

"No, it's fine. I kind of hate my real name. Leopold is so… Ugh."

"Well, Butters. You got busted at the right time. Today's Friday, which means the weekend's coming up. Tomorrow's commissary, so hopefully you didn't wait 'til the last minute to send your check. And Sunday's the best. Movie night. I think this week it's Indiana Jones." I had to admit, it was pretty cute seeing Kenny get excited over something so simple.

"Raiders of the Lost Ark, Temple of Doom, The Last Crusade, or, God be damned, the Crystal Skull?" I asked.

"Think this time it's good old-fashioned Raiders of the Lost Ark. Not even prison guards are cruel enough to play Crystal Skull."

This time I laughed. Despite my rather sheltered upbringing, Dougie had set aside some time to catch me up on the classics, which I'll never stop being thankful for. Hello Kitty was a chapter of my life I had ripped up, burned, and promptly forgot about. Kenny and I made our way outside.

"This is the track field, and over there is the greenhouse. Back there's the field where we grow vegetables and wheat. And that's the workshop area. And this up here is the guard tower, where guards will shoot you from if you run anywhere other than on the track field." Kenny summarized dryly, pointing a narrow finger as he was directing me. "The track field's really nice if you're one of those 'morning jogger' types. And we grow some cucumbers in case you're ever in need of a dildo."

I coughed, surprised yet again by his forwardness. That'd take some getting used to. "Well, if the fellas here are as p-perverted as you say, there's really not much point, is there?"

Kenny blinked and bit his lip before speaking again. "I have to ask… What is someone like you doing here? I know your type- you're too nice to do anything that'd put you in here. Were you set up or something?"

I was afraid this was coming. "No… I knew what I w-was signing up for. I was just too excited by the idea of doin' somethin' bad that I was blinded by it. I robbed a bank, you see."

I relished the look of surprise that came across Kenny's face a little too much. "Seriously? Shit, man! You're more badass than I thought!"

And I went on to tell him of my grand exploits with Dougie. It wasn't like telling the others; Kenny was so animated and into my recount of all that I did to get here that I didn't even realize we had wandered off into the library at some point. It was like he was living an exciting life through my stories- and he probably was at the very least trying. I had no idea what was running through his mind, especially now that I knew he thought he'd be stuck here forever.

"So, I hate to cut this short, but I have to be getting to work in a few. If you get bored- 'cause you will since I won't be there- you should read the book on my table called _Portofino. _It's pretty good. Anyway, I'll talk to you once I get off in a couple hours, Butters." Kenny gave me his signature wink and I gave him a small wave as he disappeared behind a bookcase, walking backwards in a goofy manner so he could maintain a smile with me a little while longer. Despite his secretiveness, I liked him. He seemed like one of the few genuine people here.

But I really wanted to know what he did that deserved a life sentence. And how he managed to escape so often. It was really eating at me. Shoving these thoughts aside, I walked out of the library and into the biting cold of the outside. I was surprised I hadn't noticed it before, but then again, I had been with Kenny. And Kenny seems to make things fade away to unimportance around him.

Sighing to myself, I set off back to the main building to get something to eat from the cafeteria since lunch was just around the corner. Instead of sitting there in the mostly empty commons, I decided to take an apple and a cup of hot green tea with me to our room. When I got back, I did as Kenny had suggested and carefully picked up his copy of _Portofino, _which was apparently a little town by the sea in Italy. The book was yellowing and worn out, but I found that it just added to its charm. At first, I was a little uncertain as to whether or not this book would be something I'd actually enjoy, but it was pretty humorous and, even more surprising, the family life of the main character was something that struck me pretty deeply. He was raised in a rigid, strictly religious lifestyle in a city of pure paradise, and in one scene his mother actually prayed in a restaurant for a whole hour before letting them eat their cold dinner. My family was pretty harsh too, but this was just ridiculous.

I managed to get through about half of the book before I dozed off on top of my bed. But I was awoken pretty quickly by something, and slid off my bed in alarm. I thought someone had opened either Kenny or my drawer, but a quick scan around the room assured me that I was simply paranoid. I let my eyes close once again as I thought about my new life here.

Befriending Kenny really did put my mind at ease- more than I originally gave him credit for. Sure, it had only been a couple of hours, but he just made everything seem less terrible. Who would've thought I'd go to prison and wind up meeting someone as incredible as him?

I really did like Kenny.

That's why I was pretty mad when I opened my eyes again and noticed someone going through his things.

"W-What are you doing, Eric?!" I shrieked, ripping out one of Kenny's books from his hands before he could realize I had woken up.

"I'm just looking! Christ, you're a touchy one aren't you, Stotch?" Cartman sneered. "Which is why you're in the slammer, I guess. Just couldn't keep your hands to yourself! Naughty, naughty." He tsked and wiggled his big fat finger in front of my face teasingly. "You of all people should appreciate me digging through his stuff. So what, are you his little prag now too?"

I blinked in confusion. "Prag?"

"Yeah. Prag. Prison-fag. Means you're his fuck toy." Eric clarified, as if this was the most basic knowledge in the world. "Seriously, you live under a rock."

"I'm n-not his prag, Eric." I stated as firmly as I could, but he only snorted.

"Are you sure about that?"

"I think I'd know." I said cheekily, proud that I was standing up to him, even in the smallest way.

"Well, good. I could use a new one."

...Oh.

I backpedaled. "Y-You know, actually, I think you better get out of here. I, uh, heard my prison number get called up front. They're probably gonna give me a sh-shot if I don't go."

"Bullshit." Eric grinned, his eyes firm as he stepped closer to me. "They haven't called out numbers since two hours ago."

"Oh, well… I-I think you j-just weren't payin' too much attention then! I coulda _sworn _they called me."

"Take off your pants."

It wasn't a suggestion.

"Listen, Eric. I really d-don't think this is a good idea!"

"_Now_, prag. Or I'll do it for you." Eric hissed through bared teeth, and I noticed in my blind panic that he was missing a few.

I made a mad dash to the door, but Eric seemed to know what I was going to do even before I did, and he caught me in his bulky arms.

"Hmph, the more you struggle, the more it'll hurt you know." He sneered, roughly tossing me onto my bed. Where _was _everyone?!

He brought his hands to the elastic of my pants before slipping them inside and groping me. That's when the adrenaline set in. I kicked and screamed furiously, managing to land a swift blow to his kidney and escaping a few feet as he hunched over in pain. Unfortunately for me, he grasped my ankle with a determined firmness and held me in place.

"Stop!" I gasped, hating him for putting me in this situation. I had given him the benefit of the doubt, and he threw it back in my face.

"You can't order me around, prag! I own you now. And that also means I make all of your decisions for you. You don't piss, you don't eat, don't sleep, don't fuck, don't cum unless I say you can. Understand?" Eric clarified for me, with all the calmness in the world. It was absolutely, gut-wrenchingly horrifying, and I wasn't strong enough to push him off, to back up my refusal to let him control me.

"G-Get away, Eric!" I screamed, biting his hand that was clenched around my shoulder. He cussed and hit me across the face, giving me a pretty good mark on my cheek.

"Understand?" He repeated again, tightening his grip on me.

"What the _hell_ are you doing here?" Said a voice that must've surely come straight from heaven. I felt Eric's grip on my body lessen considerably.

"McCormick." He hissed, throwing me against the stone wall like a discarded rag doll. "I was just taking out your leftovers."

"Leave him alone, you got that?" Kenny lowered his voice menacingly, and his face was darker than I had ever seen it.

"Why should I? He told me himself he wasn't your prag." Eric stated, standing a little taller as he approached Kenny.

Kenny's eyes glittered dangerously. "Clearly I'll need to train him better later. He's mine, and starting today he'll know it. Now get out of here before I send you back to the hole."

"Fuck you, McCormick." And then he was gone without another word.

"Are you okay?" Kenny words cut through the emptiness, and I started to absorb what had just happened. It was too much.

"Holy shit." My voice cracked, and I leaned against the wall for support. "Did that really happen?"

That was a stupid question. "Yeah, it did. Be thankful I walked in before he could actually do anything. He won't fuck you if he thinks he'll piss me off."

I looked up at him, bracing myself to ask another stupid, yet relevant question. "Am I really your... prag?"

Kenny let out a short, startling bought of laughter. "I'm not going to rape you, Butters. I swear to God. I'll admit, I would've been quite open to taking advantage of you if this had happened four or so years ago, but I'm not like that anymore. But if Cartman thinks I am, he won't touch you. At least, for a little while. He's been after a new prag ever since his last one… expired."

I didn't need a stupid question to help me understand what that meant.

"Kenny, why are you bein' so n-nice to me?" I whispered, afraid my voice would waver if I had spoken any louder.

"I dunno. Maybe because I'm tired of pushing people away all the time." He shrugged and smirked as he noticed the open book on my end table. "You started _Portofino_."

"Yeah." I replied, giving him the best shallow smile I could muster. "It's pretty addicting. Makes me wish I was out of prison too. I've never been to Europe before."

"Neither have I." Kenny's smile seemed to get a little bittersweet.

We were silent for a bit- it was just he and I on top of my bed, relaxing in the cooling quiet.

"Why did you end up in prison, Kenny?" I asked softly, looking over at him.

He seemed to lock away a part of himself at my question. "It's not a very fun story, Butters. I'll tell it to you eventually, I promise. But you just almost lost you anal virginity to a fatass. Well, assuming you're an ass virgin." He raised his eyebrows questioningly, and I couldn't help but laugh.

"Wouldn't you like to know!" I teased, flicking him lightly on the forehead. I was thankful his forehead wasn't too big or too small- it was just right. Which was kind of odd to think about, really.

"Alright Butters, tell me the truth. How far have you gone with someone before?" Kenny inquired, mock seductively placing his hands on the mattress on either side of my waist, so we were face-to-face.

"Oh, uh.. Well…" I colored up, feeling intensely out of place. "O-One time when I was drunk I gave Dougie a blowjob. Things were pretty awkward after that…"

Kenny's eyes widened in surprise. "So you _are_ into guys, huh? Hah! I totally called it!"

"H-Hey! I don't seem THAT gay, do I?" I asked nervously.

"Not at all, Buttercup! Just enough for me to notice." There was that wink again. God, why did he have to do that so much? "Hey we should probably get ready for dinner. Tonight's apple fritter night, and I refuse to miss out on that."

I chuckled and took the hand he offered as support for getting off of my bed. I noticed, for the first time, the tattoos on the underside of his right arm. They were simple tallies, perhaps hundreds of fives crossed out over and over all up his wrist to where his skin folded at the elbow. It was ominous.

"What're those for?" I asked innocently, nodding at his arm.

Kenny looked away rather sheepishly. "It's kind of a weird story."

Noting that he seemed uncomfortable, I didn't press the issue further. But even so, the countless tallies danced and swarmed in my mind, like hauntingly unwanted musical notes on a sheet of paper. We walked together to the cafeteria and I paused, not sure whether or not I should follow Kenny or chance sitting by Firkle, Michael, and Pete again. I kind of missed our companionship, however flawed it may be.

My mind was made up when I saw Cartman sitting with them, however, and I followed Kenny to the food line.

"Oh, hey Stotch. What's happening?" Donovan came up behind us in line, grinning ear to ear. He seemed to be adjusting well.

"N-Nothing much. I haven't seen you around lately, Donovan. Whatcha been up to?" I asked politely, since it seemed like Clyde was in the mood to chat.

"I kinda have a problem, actually. See, I want to work in the kitchen, but I don't want anyone to know how bad I suck at making food. So I guess I want to work in the kitchen without actually working in the kitchen at all." Clyde laughed, hearing how stupid he sounded. "That doesn't make much sense, does it?"

"Well," I began. "You could always do cleaning duty or something. I personally love cooking, but I hate having to put away the dishes and clean my messes. Plus, people always need to mop up cafeteria floors. They're permanently filthy."

"You know, you might actually be on to something Stotch! I'll check the list to see if they have anything like that."

Oh shit. I had forgotten about that. I needed to get signed up too before the day was done.

"Why are you so interested in the kitchen?" Kenny spoke up, startling both Clyde and I slightly.

"Ahh, well… I dunno. Never worked in a kitchen before." He grumbled.

"Have you met the staff?"

Clyde seemed to get a little flushed. "Kind of."

"Do you like them?" I asked curiously, still a little nervous by what Kenny had told me about that Tweak fellow.

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?!" Clyde roared, scaring the living shit out of Kenny and I. In fact, I nearly pissed my pants. I shouldn't have underestimated the man who had taken a naked road trip.

"N-Nothing! I've j-just been interested in cooking here an' was worried they w-wouldn't be very friendly is all!" I cried.

"Oh. Uh, sorry about that. Just, ah, overreacting a little." Clyde looked away in embarrassment, making me seriously wonder just what the heck was wrong with him. "They're fine. Nice people. But not that creepy too-nice. Just nice."

I looked over at Kenny, who was desperately trying to hide his silent laughter from Clyde. Now I was even more confused. The line shifted, and suddenly it was Kenny's turn to get a tray. As we went through the food stations, I made eye-contact with the handsome man from the night before. His sharp eyes flicked from mine to Clyde, and he seemed to scowl slightly when Clyde gave him his signature lop-sided grin. The man's attention went back to Kenny's tray, and he looked up to give Kenny a friendly nod. And then he gave Kenny an extra scoop of mashed potatoes before sending him off.

I was slightly confused. This man seemed to take his job here in prison very seriously. Why would he violate the 2,700 calorie per day diet laid out for them? I let Kenny catch me looking at his tray pointedly so he would give me an answer.

"Jealous?" He laughed. "I did him a favor back when he first got here. Ever since then, I've been given extra helpings as a way of payment. Like I said before, Butters, nothing here is free."

Was that some kind of warning?

"Hey, mind if I sit with you guys?" Clyde asked coming around the line to follow us. Kenny gave him a short nod of approval before we slid down in an empty table. We sat around eating for a while, talking about our first full day in prison and how surreal everything felt. I learned that Clyde had gotten Token as a roommate and that they were seeming to get off on the right foot so far. I reminded Clyde that we still had to go sign up for work before the end of the day, and after dinner we said goodbye to Kenny and made our way to Miss Testaburger's office.

The sign up sheets were on her desk and I took moment to really consider other options. Frankly, there were a lot more than I thought there would be, despite whatever they had promised us in the orientation. Gardening, making clothes, education, library, cleaning, kitchen duty… AIDS Wards. Nope. Definitely not that. Kitchen it is. I scribbled down my name and left with Clyde. A short while later, we parted ways in the hallway.

I paused to read which Dorm area I was in and realized much to my dismay that I had skipped A and had went all the way to B already. I was such a ditz sometimes. I backtracked and abruptly smacked straight into Thorn, who was directly behind me. I stumbled and fell, but he managed to regain his footing.

"Oh! I'm so sorry Thorn!" I cried, a seed of worry flourishing in my very core.

"How…" He whispered, staring directly down at the floor and almost… shaking?

"...How…. how… _DARE _you!" He then stood above me, curling his fingers into sharp bony fists and bringing his fiery eyes to my own. "Do you know who I _AM?_" Suddenly, his face was a mere inch away from my own and I felt his hot angry breath.

I was on the verge of another apology when I felt it; Thorne had thrust up his knuckles to crack against my jaw in a powerful right-hook. The raw energy behind it sent me sprawling back several feet.

I gasped and spat blood on the floor. There were no guards around, no anybody. It was just me and him, just like how it was with Eric. Suddenly, something in me just snapped. I was sick of being the weak one. I was _always _the weak one. So I flew at the dark-haired man with a fury in me I never felt before and grabbed a fistful of that hair of his. And I just pulled. And kept pulling, until a chunk of it ripped out. I think we were both pretty shocked, but instead of stopping I went in for another generous amount and repeated it. He was screaming, I was screaming, and then I felt arms underneath my own pulling me off of the bloody man.

"Alright, Stotch. That's quite enough!" Stan yelled over the screeches, and I realized that they were mostly my own. "Just what the hell happened here?"

"I.. I bumped into h-him on accident and he h-hit me." I replied as steadily as I could, feeling like a fourth grader in a principal's office.

"You know what this means, right?" Stan began, filling me with a sense of dread.

"Wait. Stan, he's with me." Aw, geez. How come Kenny always managed to show up to rescue me at just the right time?

Stan looked over at the rugged blonde and unclenched his jaw. "... I'll give you a warning this time, Stotch. But if I see you in another fight, you're headed straight to the hole, understand?"

"Y-Yes sir."

"Alright. Thorn, let's get you to the nurse's office and have a look at that scalp. Seems pretty raw." I heard a low hiss before Stan dragged him off.

I turned to Kenny with a small pout. "How come you have so many connections, huh?"

He sighed. "I have a way with people. I'm just too sexy most of the time."

"Yeah, that's it." I snorted.

"But really, of all the people you could've bumped into! It just had to be the Antichrist." Kenny rolled his eyes and walked me back to our cubicle. "He literally has deluded himself into thinking he is the Antichrist. Did you know that?"

I gaped. Was _everyone_ here this dramatic? "N-No! What the hell is with this place? Are all prisons like this?!"

"Dunno. I'll let you know if I ever find out. But hey, I've gotta say, I'm pretty impressed with how you scalped him. If Stan hadn't of been there, you would've been good to go without my help. Just a little while ago you were letting Cartman smack you around- now you've made his favorite lackey a little less pretty. Congrats dude." Kenny flopped onto his bed once we got back in our room, and gave me his best 'join me and let's cuddle' face. I _almost _caved.

"Thanks, but now I kinda feel a little bad about it."

"He would've done the same to you, trust me. While Tweak got over his crazy with the proper medication, Thorn is fifty shades of insane. There's no telling what he would've done to you. I know you seem to have a death wish, but try NOT to fuck with the son of Satan. Otherwise, I'm putting you on suicide watch." Kenny rolled around on his bed and groaned, seemingly uncomfortable just as the lights turned off, signaling we should be in our respective cubicles. Can't say I didn't have a similar problem with my own bed- these springs were a fucking nightmare.

"I'll try my best not to die within my first week of being here." I stated a little too humorlessly- I was quickly learning that constant humor was how you survived here. Or at least that was how Kenny survived. Cartman seemed to survive by causing fear and controlling people. I wondered vaguely what way I would find.

"Just so you know." Kenny mumbled, sleep grazing his voice. "If you wake up and I have somehow managed to get into your crappy little bed with you… that's totally normal. In fact, I sleep walk frequently."

"Bullcrap." I smiled softly, knowing he couldn't see my face. "You just want an excuse to get into bed with me."

"Who wouldn't?" He muttered, and a few moments later I heard a quiet snore. My rather pointless smile doesn't leave my face until I've fallen into unconsciousness too.

**A Note From The Author****: And thus concludes Chapter 2. What a crazy roller coaster that was. I admit, I was slightly intoxicated when I first stamped this one out. You weren't able to tell, were you? I tried to smooth it out a little, but… I don't know xD Moral of the story: Don't write chapters when drunk. Only sex scenes. And there will be all that too, I promise. In gory, descriptive detail~ But I want to introduce everything first, and when I mean everything, I mean Kyle. He's coming after the next chapter, decidedly. The next one's going to be a long haul, according to my drunken brain-grid, but it'll be worth it. Oh fuck will it be worth it. Anyway, enough of my rambling. Thank you for taking the time to read this, and like always, reviews aren't demanded but are quite welcome. You guys make me smile~ Love you all!**


	3. Cut

**Hey there everyone~ So, just wanted to thank you again for all the positive feedback this story has gotten so far- it's pretty awesome how into it you guys are! I was pretty uneasy about carving into this one since… Hmm, how do I put this. When you're writing a story in a setting that's really real to you, you kind of get nervous that the people reading it won't get as immersed as you are in this world you've created. I'm really glad that's not the case so far. I'm also equally as glad that no one's ripped on me for making references to both **_**Orange Is The New Black**_ **and **_**Oz**_**. I don't intend on ever taking entire episodes of either of the shows and condensing them into this story- what I have been and will continue to do is to take references from the shows and thread them in if it seems fitting. Like the cup of tea Butters was drinking last chapter was a reference to **_**The Chickening**_ **in OITNB. There's actually quite a few little things like that I have in store and have already incorporated, but this is going to be an entirely different story, I assure you. Most of the character's back stories and actions I did based on who they are in South Park (which is my top end-all-be-all. If I think an idea is too OOC for someone, I drop it), but I'll admit I got some inspiration from characters in these two tv shows. Cartman, for example, will be a kind of symbol for three characters (but for right now it probably will only seem like Schillinger) throughout the course of this story, but he will still be and act like himself. I struggled for a long time with Kyle's backstory before I settled on a combination of character pasts, which I could tell you later on if you're really that interested. But I DID already say that he was innocent, so I'll reveal that I actually was thinking of the French woman's imprisonment and ironic death in the movie **_**Chicago.**_ **Yep. THAT's why Kyle's a goody two-shoes xD Inspiration comes from the weirdest places. **

**Here I'll take a moment to formally thank my reviewers:**

**To Callmetracy: SO sorry about the update thing! My God, I'm terrible! xD But now that school has kicked off, I think it would be safe to say that updates will be once a month. I'll try for every other week though! -I'm glad you picked up on the dead roomie thing with Kenny. Right now he's still a bit of a mystery, but this will be a large part of the last story arch I have in store. And regarding Cartman, don't worry. He'll finally get what's coming to him in the future :) I've never been his biggest fan, and generally I try to cut him some slack, but right now he's the driving antagonist. As for Butters, let me just say I REALLY love Butters. I relate to him so much, it's terrible. The odds of him getting raped in one of my fics is quite low, in all honesty :) **

**To SUZY D: Thank you! :D You're sweet for saying that~ I hope you enjoy this chapter too~ **

**To Impassive Tears: Oh, I'm so glad to hear you say that! I was hoping this story would make you feel nostalgic for OITNB~ And honestly, in terms of Tweek's chances of getting raped, I'm not really sure anymore! His association with Craig could very well backfire. And I'm also quite glad you're getting used to the idea of Cryde~ 'Cause I've started to go down that route in this chapter… :P Hopefully, you'll like it~**

**To RozenBlitz: Oh man, I WISH I could just shank Cartman sometimes! xD I actually very super secretly have a bit of a grudge against him, because he reminds me of a certain ex of mine, LOL. So it's just too easy to make him an ass! I'm super glad you enjoy how I present the South Park characters~ It always boils down to who you're writing about, after all~**

**To Erock: I couldn't agree more xD In order to do a prison fic with Butters in it, there kind of has to be that 'guardian' figure if he's going to live, and naturally Kenny fits the bill. I'm so grateful that you like the story so far! And now, you're right. The next chapter's perspective is Kyle~**

**To HappyNoddleGirl666: You know, I think uncomfortable prison fics were what originally made me want to write this. I was sick of reading stuff that made me feel gross, and I guess that's why I decided to sit down and make one myself. I want to touch on heavy stuff, but not in a way that makes humans seem like complete monsters (even if that is a little unrealistic), because at the end of the day, why we do what we do is for very primal reasons. Anyway, I'm so very happy you like my character interpretations! The only thing fans are given that they should absolutely leave alone (in my opinion) are the characters that made you love the show in the first place. And you're right- I do spend a lot of time making them feel authentic. But I won't get into that~ Thank you so much, from the bottom of my heart for enjoying this story so far!**

**To sirius1696: That was indeed Ike xD He'll become much more important starting… the next chapter, it would seem. I actually have been considering two possible pairings for him- one would be really simple and easy to do, and the other… Not so much. He's another one I've been torn with for some time now. So I think I'll take the same policy as I did with Craig and let his character bake in the oven some more first before I seal him off~ And I'm very glad you like my interpretation of Kenny! His character's been cooperating nicely~**

**To XxDarkSarcasm1010xX: Haha, I should've saved that for Kyle! It would've been perfect xD You'll find out who it was this chapter, but the hand-licking was actually a little reference to… I think the cannibal from **_**Oz **_**(feels silly to have already forgotten). And as for Damien… oh, Damien. His character's spending a little alone time for now. Odds are, he won't be too happy at Butters later xD But hey! I think I resolved my Craig problem. Maybe. **

**To CreekGnomes: You, my friend, are pretty fantastic. I'm really glad a fellow OITNB fan is reading this~ I know I've probably skated close to the line a few times, but I hope this story feels somewhat nostalgic in regards to the show. I love **_**Oz **_**to death, I do, but OITNB is so much more relatable. It made me sad that it was a women's prison (since we miss out on manly shower times xD), so I felt obligated to try to recreate it without making it too much of the same thing. Thanks for being so open to either Craig pairing too (despite what your name suggests xD)! I'm honestly not sure what's going to happen to Tweek, but since he has a bit of street cred, I think the odds are in his favor. And even if I choose Cryde over Creek, I think Craig's probably a pretty protective guy- he was a cop once, after all. He'd probably pull a Kenny and stick his neck out for Tweek, don't you think? ;)**

**To my Guest who commented on Ch. 3: Ahhh, thank you! I entirely agree with your preferences for Kyle! Unfortunately, he wasn't the person licking Stan's hand because he isn't in prison yet! xD (But I revealed who that was this chapter, since I was asked about it a lot) But I assure you, I have big plans for Kyle. I want him to start off pretty normal, but slowly descend into… something else ;) I can't wait to get started on his chapter, which is next~**

**You're support is astounding and something that rather took me by surprise~ Thank you for all of your reviews; they've helped me shape where this story is going and let me know what you want more of. (Which is apparently a LOT of Craig and Tweek, heheh! Finally it has come to the point where I can deliver~) It's a pretty great thing, especially since it's like I'm writing this story with you all~ :) I hope you enjoy this installment! (Chapter title is a song from Plumb.)**

**EXTRA LONG CHAPTER FOR THE EXTRA LONG WAIT!**

CHAPTER 3- CUT

_I own you now. And that also means I make all of your decisions for you. You don't piss, you don't eat, don't sleep, don't fuck, don't cum unless I say you can. _

"Butterscotch? Butters?"

I woke shaking and feeling a clammy cold sweat clinging to my skin. Kenny was standing over me with a worried look on his face.

"Dude, are you okay? You were screaming."

"W-What? I was? Oh gosh, I'm sorry Kenny." I muttered, rolling off my uncomfortable bed to stand gracelessly. Ah, great. I had another kink in my neck. "I tend to do that sometimes. It's normal, I swear."

"Well, you scared the everloving shit outta me. C'mon, it's already five. Might as well hit the showers before the prag owners wake up." Kenny threw a towel onto his shoulder and grabbed his ditty bag before strutting out of our cubicle. I grabbed my own belongings and followed, lightly jogging just enough to catch up (but not enough to get tazed or shot). We walked to the showers together and I borrowed some shampoo from him. Hopefully today at commissary I could get some of my own. A better bar of soap wouldn't kill me either.

I couldn't help but watch in the corner of my eye as Kenny tore off his clothes before strutting into a stall. He either had been in here for far too long or he never really possessed any modesty to begin with- his stride was far too confident for someone stripped to his bare minimum. He caught me staring, and openly chuckled as I reddened in embarrassment.

Before turning on the nozzle, he glanced back at me overdramatically, already knowing I'd still be watching him, before addressing me in the most suggestively cocky tone. "You know, it'd be a _lot _easier rinsing off if you joined me in here."

Stammering, I replied as best I could. "I-I, golly, I don't know if th-that's a good idea, Ken."

His eyebrows shot up in surprise. I wasn't too good at determining, but it was probably a very sarcastic expression. "Oh? And why's that? I think it's a great idea!"

"B-But when the other f-fellas walk in…"

"Exactly! It'd look like I really DID make you my prag. Otherwise, Cartman might suspect that I was just throwing you a bone. He'd think I was going soft." He practically purred in response. _Nothing is free here…_ Was Kenny really the exception after all?

After briefly weighing my options, I gave a defeated sigh and removed my shirt. Better Kenny than Eric. With a terrible sense of dread, I realized as I thumbed the hem of my pants that I had the beginnings of an erection. Kenny would most certainly notice and poke fun at me for it.

"Uh… Y-You know, I… I l-left somethin' at the Dorm. I'll go g-grab it real fast!" I scurried for the door, feeling like a silly grade schooler.

"Hang on, what'd you forget?" He asked me with a small, slightly adorable pout that stopped me in my tracks. He looked like a child that didn't get what he wanted.

"J-Just… Some soap."

"It's right there." Kenny pointed, and I was mortified to see my cruddy bar soap quite obviously visible by my other stuff.

"O-Oh, yeah. But that's n-not the good one!"

"You're in prison, honey." Kenny smirked. "We don't have designer soap bars in the shape of seashells. And I KNOW that's the only bar you've got. So why are you bullshitting me? Got something to hide?"

Gosh _darn_ that wink of his. Might as well come clean if he's just going to keep on acting like that. "Well… y-yeah." I admitted, shyly looking down at my feet as I kicked off my shoes and socks.

"Ho! I knew it! You've got a boner, huh?" Why was he so animated about this?!

"O-Only 'cause it's the mornin'! I-I swear!"

"No need to get so riled up, Buttercup. Not that I mind…" Kenny gave me an airy chuckle. "Want me to help you take off your pants if it's that challenging?"

"Aw heck no! That'd make it worse!" I cried, spinning around so I couldn't see him naked anymore. God, why did I have to be gay? I could tell that my next 1,000 or so days here stripping around Kenny and the other men would be pretty taxing.

"You find me _that _attractive, huh?" Kenny hummed, closer to me than before. I was about to whirl around, but was abruptly stopped as I felt Kenny's lean arms snake around my bare torso from behind and rest on my stomach.

"W-Well… I mean… y-you're a pretty n-nice lookin' g-guy…" I hated myself for stammering.

"Hmm." I felt weak as Kenny's thumbs worked down into my pants, serving as a kind of hook for keeping me in place. Something extremely revealing was poking me in my general rear-end area that was making me blush scarlet, but it also made me feel a little better about my own hard-on. At least I wasn't alone. I couldn't help but tremble as he spoke again in a lowered voice directly next to my ear. "No shame in swinging for the same team. Especially in prison. Just don't _tell _anyone you're gay. Luckily, some other newbie had the misfortune of making that mistake before I did, back when I first got here. Weirdly enough, prag masters'll beat you for being a fag, but still fuck you in the ass. It's counter-productive if you ask me."

I blinked in shock. "You're gay too?"

"Not really." He gave me a crooked grin. "Bisexual. Although, I will admit that I sometimes indulged in the occasional _Moulin Rouge _binge."

He began to kneel and quickly took my pants with him. I let out a sharp gasp as my arousal was exposed to the cool morning air. I stepped out of my pants legs, accepting my humiliating fate, and turned around to face him. I wasn't surprised when his gaze immediately went south.

"Woah. I had my doubts, I'll admit, but you've got a pretty impressive length." Kenny whispered seductively, looking at me with a hungry expression. His gaze flicked down again and he smirked at my response. "C'mere, let's take a shower already. The prag masters'll be here any minute."

I followed him nervously into his stall, and as soon as I entered the cramped tiled area he pinned me against the wall a little roughly. I gasped in surprise but he merely took his bar of soap (which I was slightly envious of, since it was of much better quality than my own), lathered it, and pressed it directly on to my chest. He used his palms to work the soap across my abdomen and muscles, pausing only to get more soap on his hands before continuing. He washed my arms, torso, thighs and calves, and gave me a mischievous look before assaulting my bum. I shrieked in surprise and laughed as he gave me a very sassy eyeroll. I liked how I could be around Kenny without either of us speaking a word and still easily maintain a conversation in spite of that. It was just so _natural _and oddly comforting. I thought he would probably grant me the decency of not cleaning my genitals, but I was mistaken. He slicked both of his hands with suds before giving me a 'prepare yourself' grin and taking my still-rather-hard length in his grip. I gasped at the sudden attention and at his audacity, but I wasn't actually as offended as I probably should've been. What's more- when his turn for a thorough washing came along, I reciprocated. We washed our hair together with Kenny's shampoo (which contained about as much as a hotel's free shampoo & conditioner bottle). After we were both finished he leaned in to whisper, "Ready to put on the show of your life?"

I gave him an imploring look and was about to question him, but before I could the bathroom door creaked open as if on cue. Kenny gave me a wild look and placed an arm against my chest, and, without warning, he snaked his fingers through my wet hair and pulled my mouth closer to his. A few tense moments passed where we just simply looked at each other. It wasn't creepy or intimidating, it was just a look of open, innocent curiosity. Finally, he seemed to give me a look that asked 'Is this okay?' and I responded by briefly glancing down at his lips and then back at him. It was a universal, understood acceptance and he took my face in the palms of his hands before leaning in and kissing me softly.

Now I had kissed several people in my time- one was even a woman. I'd thought I was in love before. But nothing even remotely matched up to what kissing Kenny felt like. He wasn't prodding or insistent, but rather he let me go at my own pace. His lips were slightly chapped as they roamed soothingly around mine, and after a while I let him take things at his own speed rather than mine. Kenny started out sweet, but slowly asked for more and more, which I was perfectly fine obliging to. Pretty soon he was biting my lower lip, asking for permission I also wasn't about to deny from him. His tongue was surprisingly cool when it slid into my mouth, and I let him explore a while before I started to reciprocate. Soon enough, I was the one who was now pushing him against the wall- although he easily flipped me back in my place when the footsteps got closer. But I wasn't paying any mind to those. I was still adjusting to the wave of emotions that hit me through this small gesture in the middle of an expressionless, filthy shower room. This man, who seemed so content and so isolated, was treating me like someone special- someone important, even.

This same man growled and parted from me long enough for him to sink his teeth into the tender flesh on my neck, causing me to groan. "Kenny…" I breathed, feeling a heavy lust engulf me as he started traveling down to my shoulder blade.

"Shh," He mouthed. "Call me McCormick for right now. It's more respectful."

I didn't like the idea of using his last name again (it seemed so formal now), so I opted for staying silent. As much as I enjoyed him exploring and marking up my body, I was beginning to really need some sort of friction. I caught Kenny's attention and gave him my best imploring look until he chuckled, despite being a little out of breath. Seeming not to get my hint, I pulled him up to me once again and kissed him, pressing my body against him until he got the hint and started grinding his hips against mine. Satisfied, I let out a throaty moan.

"Who's there?"

My eyes widened and I gave Kenny a panicked look. He just smiled and initiated another kiss, which quickly got very heated once again despite my alarm.

"What the fuck… Aww, Christ!"

Oh. Just Clyde.

It really was a shame that there were no shower curtains- this was becoming nothing short of a exhibition teaser. At least Kenny didn't seem to mind too much. In fact, he seemed to be laying it on pretty thick now, even allowing a fearless hand to stroke my inner thigh suggestively. He must have some pretty strange kinks.

"Seriously, do you have to do that here?!" Clyde cried, smacking a hand across his embarrassed face.

"...F-Fuck off, Donovan… Ahh…" Kenny had bit my earlobe.

Both he and Clyde seemed pretty startled to hear me cuss so freely, but I chose to ignore their surprised expressions as a fourth person tromped in.

Eric.

Before he could spot us, I fell to my knees in a bit of a blind panic and grabbed Kenny's throbbing cock, earning a shocked gasp from the blonde man. Clyde's drow dropped to the floor as I opened my mouth and engulfed Kenny's member.

"Holy fucking shit! Alright, wow, I'm out." Clyde sped to the other end of the showers as if he were possessed.

"Butters… Ngh, you didn't have… to…" Kenny was panting, and this was making my dick ache pretty painfully.

I separated with Kenny's cock just long enough to mumble a quick "Shh!" before going back to my task at hand. I bobbed my head to a hurried rhythm, since we needed to look as into it as possible by the time the beefy man got here.

"Ah… Hey, Buttercup… If-If you keep that up I'm going to…" Kenny broke off with a gasp as he came into my mouth. Despite doing this before, I'd never managed to get used to the taste of semen. It was one of those bitter, distinct flavors that sticks with you, almost similar to that of strong spoiled beer.

Suddenly a hand raked through my hair before clenching it firmly and pulling my face off of Kenny's junk. I gasped and yelled as I was dragged mercilessly a few feet away.

"Are you being seriously right now? You get Thorn thrown in the hole and now this? Are you really fucking with me this early in the morning?"

Frankly, I should've anticipated this.

"Actually, he's fucking with me." Kenny snickered, grabbing his balled up clothes while maintaining a cautious glare with the large man. I really wish he'd let go of my hair already.

"This isn't over, _McCormick._ This fag's going to mine one way or another. You'll see." He threw me against the side of the shower stall, and my ribcage clanged painfully against the tile as he stormed off, presumably to rinse off.

"What a tool." Kenny spit on the floor disdainfully before tossing my shirt to me. I expected him to treat me a little differently since I gave him a blowjob and all, but he really didn't seem that shaken. Or to even acknowledge it. It was pretty disarming. I stood with a wince and changed back into my clothes along side him, glad that my erection seemed to have waned with that encounter.

Breakfast was painfully slow, and to top it off, Kenny seemed a little shaken. He chatted normally with Clyde and I, but even so I wondered if he was a little agitated. I couldn't help but think our sudden intimacy was the cause for it.

Kenny snuck off to the library right after breakfast much to my dismay, so I thought I'd check in with the main office to see when I'd start working.

"Now, of course. You're working the kitchens, so it's an everyday kind of job. Get over there now before Tucker throws another one of his hissy fits." Miss Testaburger clicked her pen and frowned slightly, looking over a document of some sort. As an afterthought, I concluded that being the warden of a prison would be the most taxing job on the face of the earth.

"Who's Tucker?" I asked, almost as distracted as her. That name sounded familiar for some reason. I think Kenny had mentioned he was an ex-cop of some sort.

"He arguably runs the kitchens. That's actually Tweek Tweak's job, but they seem to have a joint leadership going on. As long as they aren't causing any trouble or making bodies appear, I don't mind much." She looked up at the clock on the wall. "I have a meeting in a couple minutes, so you need to clear out. Take care of yourself, Stotch."

"A-Alright. Thanks."

I peeled off my tan jacket as I entered the cafeteria once again and made my way to the kitchen area. Several faces turned to me as I swung open the door.

"Who the fuck are you, and what are you doing here?" Said the handsome dark-haired man from before. He had a very dry tone and a cross expression.

"I-I'm Stotch. I'll be working here w-with you fellas." I explained as briefly as I could, sensing that I should pick my words very carefully with him. I looked around the room and noticed two other blondes: one was the man-boy I had met before, Pirrup, and the other was someone I had never seen before. He had crazy hair spiking out in several directions and wild cerulean eyes that seemed a little frantic. I noticed that every so often one or two of his muscles would twitch at random. No… I have seen him before. He was that man from the other day that licked Mr. Marsh's hand.

"Ah, you must be the other replacement then. I'm Tucker, and this here is Tweek." He pointed a thumb over his shoulder at the wild-looking man. So this was Tweak. He didn't seem as alright as Kenny had promised me he was. I fumbled with my knuckles nervously. "The other one doesn't matter much." Pirrup seemed like he was about to object, but held his tongue. As I looked closer, he seemed awful. I knew I already had some nasty bruising forming from both Eric and Thorn, but he looked far worse. One eye had a sickly purple shadow and was bloodshot, while a nasty pile of red marks were flowering across his cheek and lower jaw. They seemed fresh.

My attention snapped to Tweak as he suddenly and rather violently leaped in front of my face and asked me, "Do… Do you have any tits?!"

"Umm… N-Not really… I mean, I have ni-nipples." I stammered, utterly confused and alarmed.

"Smartass. He _means_ to ask if you have any drugs. Most the people coming in here expect to get really big titties, since we get shipments from the outside. Just so you know," Tucker's voice lowered menacingly. "If you're a tit man, we're gonna have some problems here. We've been clean for _two whole weeks_, and no fuck like you is gonna stroll in here and screw with our winning streak."

"I-I promise, I'm not into drugs… Tits. W-Whatever they're called." I said as calmly as I could as Tweak retreated slowly.

"Oh yeah? We'll see about that. Ain't nobody here hasn't had their hands on some heroin before. Anyway, enough about tits. Tonight's spaghetti night. How much experience do you have with pasta?" Tucker asked me, folding his arms around his chest.

I couldn't help a small smirk. "Quite a bit."

"Good. You can help with the noodles then, when the time comes. For now, we'll get lunch ready." He informed me, looking over at Tweak.

"Lunch's a lot more stressful." Tweak cut in, turning his full attention to me. "First, we set out some fruit and make some PB & J for the older people, since they don't work or nothing. But just in case, we make a lot of extras. Because, because newbies are in the cafeteria sometimes. And it'd be _disastrous _if we didn't have food for them! We also make the meals for the other… other inmates working, and we have to go pass those out. It's just _really _stressful, 'cause... what if we forgot someone's lunch?! Then they'd have no food while they're doing their job! They could faint or come beat us up or shit in our beds! I'd hate to come to a room after a full day's work and… and jump into a bed with shit in it!" Tweak cried, grabbing my shoulders passionately and shaking me back and forth. I wasn't exactly comfortable with this, but I was also terrified of stopping him.

"Tweek. TWEEK. Calm the fuck down." Tucker boomed, snatching Tweak's arms and dragging him off of me. "Sorry. He's been in the hole for a little too long."

"'Cause of tits." Tweak finished, answering my unheard question. "The withdrawals… And the… the bread's over here. Start, start unwrapping it."

Oh. So he was a druggie? I suppose that explained a lot.

I followed him over with Pirrup and began to do just that, placing stacks of white sandwich bread on the kitchen counter. Tweak just watched us for a few minutes, shaking and placing his fingertips together nervously, before he too began to get to work by getting out numerous jars of peanut butter and jelly. Tucker disappeared in the back room for a while before emerging again with several boxes stacked dangerously high of oranges. His muscles rippled with ease as he slammed them on the other end of the table and began slicing them in half with a kitchen knife. I came to the uncomfortable realization that even though there was a guard standing just beside the doorway, I could easily get hospitalized with a knife that large. And Tucker seemed like a pretty gritty man, who could potentially be capable of anything. I calmed myself with the thought that Kenny trusted him, so he must at least be a somewhat decent man.

We went on working in relative silence, and every so often I'd look up and make eye contact with Pirrup each time he would hand me another loaf of unwrapped bread. Finally he broke the silence. "I would appreciate if you didn't look at me like that."

I was appalled. "L-Like what?"

"Like you're trying to figure me out. Like you think I'm here because of unbecoming, delinquent actions." Pirrup sniffed, shucking a loaf of it's plastic bag.

Tucker let out a humorless chuckle. "Don't flatter yourself, prag. You're in prison just like the rest of us."

"Maybe so, but that doesn't mean I was fully in the wrong!" Pirrup exclaimed, slamming his loaf of bread down onto the metal table, scowling as several slices flew into the air. "I did absolutely _nothing _wrong!"

"Then why are you here?" Tucker snapped, growing tired of Pirrup's rant.

"I was just trying to save the environment!"

There was a long silence. Tucker seemed to be gathering his sanity for an appropriate response to that. I could hardly blame him.

"I have heard a lot of guilty men try to lie about their innocence before, but that excuse has to be the most retardedest of them all. You sound like a fucked up five year old pussy trying to win a shitting beauty pageant. '_I was just trying to save the environment!' _What does that even MEAN?" Craig snapped, slapping his kitchen knife down on an orange harshly, cutting it clean through loudly.

"Exactly that! Being an orphan, I had never heard of the dangers of global warming until just recently, after I got a job and had a place to live with a TV. I joined several movements and protests, but we just weren't getting ANYWHERE. People knew of global warming and the negative impact they were making, but they just refused to see the bigger picture outside of their electricity and precious automobiles. I took up a humble Amish lifestyle, hoping to make as big of a difference as I could, recycling every single day, but it never felt like it was enough. I had to _force _people to understand the harm their wastefulness was causing. So I started slashing car tires and demolishing power lines as often as I could. Unfortunately, I was caught much too soon before I could take out all of Denver's electricity." Pirrup sighed wistfully, gathering up loose bread slices.

"Look, Pirrup-" Tucker began.

"My name is Phillip."

"Look, Pip-"

"Why won't you just call me Phillip?"

"Because I hate you. Anyway-"

"But wh-"

"JUST SHUT YOUR GODDAMN COCKSUCKING MOUTH!" Tucker bellowed, slamming his knife down yet again in a fit of excitement. There was a nasty gash in the cutting board now.

"..."

"Better. Now I was _going_ to say that you're a total vagina. And that you're entire arrest is faggy enough to make my eyes bleed. I don't want you in here if you're going to be a gaywad. Go work for electrical if you have such a boner for it." Tucker dismissed, turning to Tweak to give him a 'Can You Believe This?' look.

Pip looked as if he were going to say something more, but right then the kitchen door swung open and in came Clyde, who looked like he had just killed a lion with nothing but his own two hands and the beaten mop he was clenching. I watched as Tucker gave him a half-hearted scowl.

"Oh, it's _you _again. Don't tell me you're working in the kitchen too." Tucker sighed through gritted teeth, spitting over his shoulder at his unfortunate luck.

Clyde let out a nervous laugh. "No, no nothing like that. I clean the cafeteria now. But I finished early, so I thought I'd come see if you needed any help."

"What? It's not even lunchtime yet and you've claimed to have already mopped the _entire_ cafeteria? You must've done a crap job of it." With a whirl of his 'white' apron, Tucker spun around Clyde and out the door, seemingly concerned with the fate of his lunchroom floors. With a twisted frown, Clyde followed him out.

I turned back to my task only to gasp in shock. Tweak was right next to me, only inches away. I hadn't even noticed him move from the oranges to us, but looking over my shoulder confirmed that they had all been cut neatly into slices and placed in a large, assumingly sanitary, plastic bin. He was now over here fiddling with a jar of peanut butter.

"You know, Craig doesn't usually let me handle condiments. But- but I'm fine with peanut butter. And jelly." Tweak explained, swirling a knife into the jar pensively. We only had plastic cutting knives apart from Tucker's set of kitchen cutting knives. They'd have to serve as a substitute for butter knives.

"Um, w-why?" I asked, not really sure if I wanted to hear the reason.

"Really, it's only salt that's the problem. To get rid of the Devil." He clarified, effectively confusing me further. When he went to get more peanut butter, Pip whispered to me.

"Tweak's very superstitious, it would seem. He follows silly little rituals like tossing salt over his shoulder."

"What does that even do?" I asked, suddenly feeling very exhausted.

"If the Devil truly sits on your shoulder, the salt is supposed to get in his eyes and make him leave. Tucker told me in private not to let Tweak use up all of our seasoning."

I didn't even know how to begin to respond to that, so I kept my mouth shut and waited for Tweak to return with the box of peanut butter. Outside, we could hear Tucker kicking around tables and swearing. Another minute passed before the two men returned; Tucker looked as mad as a hive of bees and Clyde wore a triumphant smile.

"I told you it was spotless." He sang, apparently pleased with Tucker's irritation.

"Not another _word,_ Donovan. Or I'll claw your fucking eyes out."

"So I suppose I can clean your dishes then?"

"Those were done this morning."

"Then how may I be of service, my lord?"

Tucker fumed, marching around us to the pantry and keeping his eyes set in a straight angry line before him. He snatched up a large sack of what appeared to be uncooked white rice before returning swiftly to Clyde and dropping the bag at his feet.

"I want you to count every grain of rice until you can give me a final number. If you drop a single one on the floor, I'll pay the _moulies_ to off you, got it?" He turned his back dismissively to Clyde before walking off. "And next time you finish your _job_ early, I'll have you count the pasta."

"_Moulies,_ huh? Strange. You don't look that Italian to me." Clyde chuckled, grabbing the ends of the rice sack before tearing into it. Tucker ignored his observation and turned his attention back to us. We spent minutes, hours even, making sandwiches and plating oranges. By the time lunch rolled around, we had completely finished and were carting off sandwiches by means of rickety little trolleys.

Thinking I could say hello to Kenny and make our supposed awkward phase a little less… awkward, I volunteered to run the sandwiches up to the library. Since it was pretty out of the way and a general hassle to get to, no one was too disappointed by my proposal (although Tucker didn't look too pleased to be left alone with Clyde, who was almost halfway done with his sack despite a few miscounts. He seemed to take his bullshit pastime surprisingly seriously). So I trekked over in search of my blonde friend biting back stabs of nervousness along the way. After a few pit stops at several other inmate work stations, I finally managed to pull the sandwich trolley over to the library's front doors. It was a bit of an unnecessary hassle getting it through, but I was able to manage and station it next to the library desk. I watched the few inmates that worked here line up, and was pleased to see Kenny emerge from behind a packed bookshelf. He gave me a small grin when he saw me before he got in the back of the line directly behind Firkle. When it was his turn to get lunch, he winked at me and waited politely for me to gather my things.

"So, how's kitchen duty suiting you?" He asked, taking a bite of his sandwich. He eyed my apron and gave me a mischievous smirk. "I could get used to you catering to me in that."

I rolled my eyes playfully at him. "I like it so far. The people are nice enough and it's a good break from… w-well, everything."

"Good. It's important to have a low-key job here. It's stressful enough as it is." Kenny took a slice of his orange and stuck it in his mouth childishly, giving me an orange peel smile as I chuckled.

"Oh hey, once you get your break, come back over here and I'll show you how the commissary system works. Commissary's the one thing most people here look forward to. Aside from movie night, of course." Kenny told me as he finished up his lunch.

That's right. Movie night was every Sunday. The only people that actually worked on Sundays were in kitchen duty, but I didn't mind. Catering to people was oddly comforting.

"I think I'm done in about an hour or so." I replied as I waited for the inmates working the library to put their dishes back on the cart. Once they were done, Kenny and I said our goodbyes and I went back out in the chilly Colorado air.

I rolled the cart to several cleaning places and had to double back once or twice on account of getting a little lost. Even though it was tedious and my hands were getting numb from the stinging cold, it helped me figure out where everything was.

As I approached the gym area, I overheard two voices in some sort of an argument.

"Valmer, I swear to God if you're pussying out on me, I'll break both your arms to match your legs. You explicitly TOLD me you and your _moulies _could take care of him. Are you telling me you lied to my face?!"

That was unmistakably Eric's voice.

"J-J-Jesus Christ, Eric, f-first you tell me the only person you wanted offed was Tucker, and n-now you want M-McCormick too? I ONLY told you I could t-take care of Tucker, b-but I never said jackshit about McCormick. My gang's got nothing against him, and everyone kn-knows he's got connections. But T-Tucker's trying to st-stop us from getting t-tits, and that's all the reason I need to see him gone. E-Even so, there's a huge risk going after him. C-Can't say I f-feel too content having my guys off him. And, l-let's face it, your rep isn't wh-what it used to be. Tucker's starting to l-look better than you." I didn't recognize this voice and couldn't see who he was, but his words made my blood run cold. I froze in place and listened intently.

"YOU SHUT YOUR FUCKING MOUTH VALMER!" Eric screamed and I heard some rustling. "You gave me your word, goddamnit! If you start backing out, I'll slit your fucking throat! I want Tucker and McCormick DEAD, understand?! If you can't make that happen, I'll get someone else to do it after I off you!"

There was a pause before this 'Valmer' man spoke again. "What do you even have against McCormick now, anyway? Did he spit in your face again or something?"

Eric scoffed and seemed to kick a nearby trash can. I dared not to even take a breath. "Hardly. We're in a bit of a stand-off right now. He stole something of mine."

"W-Well, Eric. That sounds like a wh-whole lot of your problem." Valmer shot back. "You've got n-nothing I want for McCormick's head. But even so, I d-do agree that Tucker's becoming quite the problem. My kartel can't run with him st-standing in the way. It was better w-when that blonde b-bitch of his was using. Now that h-he's decided to become clean again, I've g-got a whole bunch of p-p-problems."

I was so absorbed in what these two were saying that my grip on the rickety cart loosened, and it slipped past my fingers and went down a small hill obnoxiously loud. Frantic, I reached out for it in a blind panic and stopped it. It wasn't for very long, but the silence that followed had my heart leap in my throat.

"And what the FUCK are you doing here?" Eric purred directly into my ear from behind. I jumped in horror and held back a scream. What… what was he going to do to me?

I turned to face him. "I-I.. umm… W-Would you like a s-sandwich?"

Eric looked at me in blunt surprise and chortled, eyes flicking from me to the cart I had. "So _you're _in kitchen duty, huh? Didn't see that coming. Well, Stotch. I'm disappointed in you. As much as I hate your prag owner, I still hate eavesdroppers more."

I gasped in vain as I felt his thick hand grasp my throat and hold me up against the gym's brick wall. I kicked and fought for oxygen, clawing and Eric's hand until I pried some fingers off. He grinned at me in amusement before seeming to make up his mind and release me. I fell to the ground in a heap, taking several moments to gasp for air.

"You owe me now, you know."

I looked up at him in anger before eyeing his companion, Valmer. He was the crippled man who had been so rude to me at lunch. I could barely handle my rage at this point and I could even _feel_ my face reddening in hate and disgust.

"What do you want, _Eric?"_ I spat out, seething in what I could only describe as absolute bloodlust.

He seemed to sense my change in attitude and almost shied away from me. Even so, he held his ground. "I need you to do me a little favor. If you manage to off Tucker for me, I'll drop my grudge with McCormick. Entirely. I won't bother you or him ever again."

"You want me to _kill _him? No. I'm n-not doing that." I clenched my teeth, mentally preparing myself for another brawl.

"You d-don't have to kill him." Another voice spoke this time. I glanced over to see that it was Valmer who had spoken. "Just weaken him for us. All you'd h-have to do is g-grind up some broken glass and p-put it in his food for a couple weeks. After a while, his stomach won't be able to process it and it'll tear him up fr-fr-from the inside out. You won't kill him, just let me know when he's w-weak enough to confront. I'll take it from there."

I didn't like the sound of this at all. It felt morally sickening and I wasn't about to be a part of it. Sensing my disdain, Valmer continued. "Look, against m-me and Eric, you wouldn't have a chance. We have the numbers and g-gangs. You don't. If you do this, you and M-McCormick will be safe from both of our groups. It's a n-no-brainer."

He had a point. If I refused, all the black people and Eric's… friends? would be at my throat. It'd probably be more trouble than I could handle. Still… Tucker did nothing wrong, at least to me. And it felt so sinful, so gross. I couldn't possibly stab someone in the back like that. But I've been bullied most of my life, and I knew the only way I could possibly get out of this.

So I bit back my pride and allowed myself to cool off before accepting the path carved out in front of me. "Alright."

"...You're going to do it?" Eric asked in disbelief.

"It's the only way I can get out of this unscathed." I replied coldly, looking him dead in the eye. "Now, i-if you don't mind, I have ta go back to my job. I'll keep in touch." I added, looking away quickly and grabbing my cart before departing.

"You better keep your word, Thief!" Eric called after me. I didn't respond. I didn't have to.

After I was a safe distance away, my breathing became uneven and I was startled by the tears falling from my face. Since I first came here, I hadn't really processed what was going on- what was happening to me on a daily basis. I felt as if my soul was tearing at the seams from this high-alert lifestyle I had gotten myself into. I couldn't handle this. I couldn't _live_ like this. I sat on the outside steps behind the cafeteria and allowed myself to cry. I even was beginning to have a bit of a panic attack. My breathing was quick and my throat burned from being temporarily strangled. A few minutes passed and I wiped my eyes and allowed myself to calm down. I had to put on a facade again- let everyone know I was my old self. Weakness here was taken advantage of in a heartbeat.

After I decided I was presentable, I made my way back inside the cafeteria and was immediately greeted by the sound of screaming. Never a dull moment, here in prison…

"What do you think you're DOING?! I just counted all of those!" That voice was unmistakably Clyde. I walked into the kitchen and watched as he gave Tucker a heart-breakingly hurt pout. It looked like Tucker had mixed his counted rice back into the original sack with the uncounted grains.

Tucker was wearing a slightly self-satisfied smirk and I couldn't keep down the wave of guilt I felt. "Time's up. It's break time. You can go back to counting when we come back for dinner."

"You're too cruel!" Clyde cried, standing up in defeat. It took a while, but I was finally catching on to why he wanted a job cleaning the cafeteria so badly. Smiling bitterly to myself, I gave our little group a wave after returning the cart and headed back out to meet with Kenny.

Like he promised, Kenny was waiting for me in the library. His nose was in a Stephen King book, and he dog-eared the page he was on promptly after seeing me. He was the only man I've seen here so far who has so much as opened a book, and I was beginning to find it oddly endearing.

"So, where do we go for commissary?" I asked, walking beside him in the freezing cold. I watched absently as his hair was swept up by the wind, swirling and waving in rhythm. It was almost melancholic.

"Over by Wendy's office." Kenny replied, and I was rather surprised that he was on a first-name basis with Miss. Testaburger. Then again, this was Kenny. He knew everyone.

He led me to the line that was for commissary. Although we got their relatively early, there was still a long line of inmates.

"Probably best to get an idea of what you want now." Kenny suggested, and I plunged deep into thought.

"New soap, shampoo… socks would be nice… What other kinds of things do they have?" I asked him.

"Lots of snacks, instant noodles, utility stuff, clothes, some magazines, shaving cream. That sort of thing." Kenny listed, watching me as I contemplated what was worth my budget the very most.

When it was my turn I went up to the window, prepared to deliver my list. I nearly fell over when Miss Stevens was the one who glared at me impatiently. My carefully thought-out plans tripped out of my mind and scattered across the floor.

"Hurry up Stotch. There're more people than just you here." She said coolly.

"I-I… I would l-like…" I stammered uselessly, avoiding her eyes.

"He'd like a bar of soap, shampoo, socks, some shaving cream and razor blades, some oriental and beef flavored ramen, an extra set of towels, another blanket and pillow, and… What kind of snacks do you want?" Kenny cut in, turning to me for verification.

"... S-Some Doritos, several cans of Pepsi, and some Flaming Hot Cheetos." I finished, giving Kenny a mix of a glare and a glance of thanks. He simply grinned, seeming to understand my conflicted feelings perfectly. I really hated how he kept bailing me out sometimes, but I had to admit that I didn't exactly know what I was doing yet. I'd have to pay him back thoroughly in the future.

"Also," I added. "Have I recieved anything from my family?"

"Your aunt deposited some money in your account and informed the staff that she'd be here for visiting hours. She wanted to know what personal belongings you wanted. Tell her then. I'll subtract the total from your account and get your things." Miss Stevens informed me curtly and went to go retrieve everything. When she returned and handed over everything in a cardboard box, I thanked her and waited for Kenny to make his order.

"I'd like some instant coffee, oriental and beef ramen, six cans of Mountain Dew, some razors, shampoo, a new toothbrush, and some more toothpaste while you're at it, that order of books I submitted last week, …. and the newest issue of OTAKU USA." He listed off, looking up as if it were all written on the ceiling. "I also need my medication. That should cover it."

To my surprise, Miss Stevens smiled sweetly and gathered everything for him before punching in the amount in her computer. "Here you are McCormick. Take care of yourself now."

"Always do." He grinned back and we walked off with our boxes. It wasn't much, but a strange sense of excitement seized me as we approached our joint room. I'd get to make my little space a bit more personal; a bit more like a place I could feel comfortable in.

"By the way, thanks for saving me back there." I said, addressing Kenny. He was already cracking open his new magazine.

"No problem." He looked up at me with a somewhat sassy expression and a teasing smirk. "I owe you for giving me a blowjob, after all."

I felt my face turn a bright red in surprise. I wasn't expecting him to address the elephant in the room quite yet. But it was probably for the better.

"Oh, you don't owe me n-nothing, Ken. You've been helping me out a lot since I've come here… It was the least I could do." I looked up at him with my own playful grin. He raised his eyebrows in surprised but seemed quite content with me playing along.

"Damn right. Saving your ass is a lot of work, you know! Builds up a lot of tension."

"Well," I continued teasingly, cracking open a Pepsi. "If you ever need an outlet for all of that tension, just let me know."

He blinked. "... I may very well take you up on that offer."

I went back to putting away my new things. "So Kenny, what did you do before you got into prison? Did you have a job?"

"Yeah. Originally, I went to college but stuff happened… And I dropped out. At first, I didn't really know what to do, so I worked some odd jobs to help support me and my family, but then I got into making music. Even more then that, I really got into DJing. I'd make some of my own mixes and I held a bunch of rave parties. It was pretty fucking sweet." Kenny smiled, no doubt feeling nostalgic. "Music was really all I lived for most of my life. It was my escape. Apart from books, that is. What about you? Did you have a passion outside of college?"

I most certainly did. "Yeah. I was a painter, actually. I'd go out on the weekends to this remote little pond by my college and just paint for hours. Sometimes I'd be out there from morning until it got dark. During winter, the pond would freeze over and the neighborhood kids would come skate on it. That was my favorite time to paint it." I smiled, thinking fondly of Stark's Pond. It really was a beautiful sight- there wasn't a simple way to describe it. It just reflected the seasons so perfectly and it always gave me a sense of tranquility.

"I kinda had you pegged for a painter." Kenny replied, setting aside his magazine and standing. "You probably have to get back to the kitchen soon, right? I'll walk you over."

I looked up at the large clock above our cell blocks and grimaced. He was right, I had to get back soon in time for dinner. I got up and we went out the double doors into the cold. I expected Kenny to stop once we reached the kitchen entrance, but he followed me in and waved in greeting to Tucker.

"McCormick." Tucker gave him a slight nod and a smile. I was about to say hello as well, when suddenly the kitchen door slammed open behind me, hitting me in the back.

"Oh, sorry Stotch! Didn't see ya there." Clyde grinned, patting me roughly on the back before skirting around me and Kenny to talk to Tucker.

"-So you said something about pasta?"

Tucker's mood soured immediately. "What will it take for you to stop?!"

Clyde's nonchalant look was unfazed. "Dunno."

Tucker sighed in irritation and grabbed Clyde's sleeve before dragging him to the storage room, probably for uncooked pasta. Before he disappeared behind the door, Clyde gave Kenny and I a mischievous wink.

Several seconds later, it was apparent why. "What the HELL do you think you're doing?! Get off of me!" There was some crashing and the distinct sound of something breaking before the two emerged from the storage room. Tucker's hair, which had been relatively neat, was now quite messy and Clyde had a nasty red mark on his jaw and a rather dismal expression. Kenny was cackling while holding his sides; it didn't take a rocket scientist to figure out what had happened. Nonetheless, Tucker was holding a bag of pasta triumphantly. Clyde washed his hands, popped open the bag, and began counting without a word as Pip and Tweak came in.

"If you're going to be here, you might as well make yourself useful McCormick." Tucker spoke up.

"Actually… If you don't mind, I think I'll assist Donovan with his pasta counting."

If looks could kill, Kenny would've dropped dead immediately.

So we went about preparing servings of spaghetti while Kenny and Clyde counted and, like Tweak had said, dinner proved to be a lot less stressful in comparison to lunch. Tweak and I discussed the different ways of preparing Italian foods and I learned that he used to actually own and Italian restaurant before he landed here in prison. Preparing the food was relatively enjoyable, but I liked serving even more. I don't even know why. It was just satisfying to give people their dinner, so much so that I began regretting not getting into the food business earlier. Maybe I wouldn't have stolen. Maybe.

Finally, our kitchen staff sat down around our prep table to eat our own meals. It definitely felt a lot safer than going out in the cafeteria to eat. In comparison to making and handing out food, cleaning up after was awful. We were all pretty tired, and no one seemed too keen about cleaning except for Clyde, who jumped at the idea of being helpful. Needless to say, he and Craig did most of it. After we were finished, we all parted our separate ways to our cubicles.

Kenny flopped down on his bed comically and groaned. "As much as I like Craig, I hope he doesn't make Clyde and I count anymore uncooked noodles. It strains your eyes after a while."

I felt a pang of sympathy for Clyde as I recalled him relentlessly separating miniscule grains of rice. "He'll probably think up s-something equally as awful for you to do tomorrow. Although, _you_ don't really have to do any of it. It's Donovan who dug his own grave."

At that, Kenny laughed. "True."

I laid down on my bed and turned on my side to face Kenny. "Hey, Ken. This is kind of off-topic, but… How big of a deal is this Valmer guy? What should I do if I somehow manage to piss him off?"

Kenny looked at me in sharp alarm. "Why? Did you?"

I looked away. "Kind of. Maybe. I don't really know yet."

"Please tell me you didn't piss him off. He's literally the WORST person aside from Cartman to anger. If he's after you, you're dead. I mean, I can only protect you so much, Butters. But he plays really dirty. As in, a shiv-in-the-middle-of-the-night or pins-in-your-food kind of dirty."

Oh. Oh _shit._ This wouldn't be good. Leopold, why do you keep getting yourself into so much trouble all the time?!

"If what you did wasn't so bad, then you're probably fine. He's got a lot to deal with. In addition to being the co-leader of the biggest gang here, he's also got some family problems going on. Hopefully, he'll be pretty distracted." Kenny continued.

Yeah, I doubt that. I trust Kenny just fine, but I need to start taking care of myself at some point. He doesn't need all of these problems I keep on finding.

"You're probably right. I'm just overthinking things." I sighed, hating myself for lying. The lights flickered off, signaling it was time to sleep.

A bout of silence passed between Kenny and I until I heard him snicker quietly. I was about to ask him what was so funny before he spoke. "You know, it'd be much more convincing to Cartman if you'd join me over here on my bed. There's plenty of room."

"I don't think Eric would notice much, Ken." I chuckled.

"No, really! It'd be super convincing. We have to really play it up if he's going to believe it." I knew that he was lying through his teeth by his overly-flirty tone, but I decided to play along.

"Alright. W-What would you do if I were to come over there right now?" I asked boldly, relishing the startled silence I received.

But he came up with a witty response nonetheless. "Why don't you come over here and find out?"

I couldn't resist. I looked over our wall to see if any guards were looking this way before I stalked over to Kenny's bed and slid in next to him. I was positively certain that Kenny hadn't been anticipating me playing along this far with his teasing, because he froze in shock. But like before, he regained his composure and inched closer to me. I felt his fingers pull up the hem of my shirt slightly before reaching his hands in to feel up my chest.

"I guess I kind of owe you for my blowjob this morning, huh?" Kenny purred in a low voice as I trembled from his cold hands.

"Nah, Ken. I already t-told you, you don't owe me anything." I replied in a whisper, placing my forehead against his. I could feel the little tickle of his breath against my lips and our noses touched.

"You sure about that?" He asked, and I could feel him grin a little.

"Yeah. After all… It d-doesn't really mean anything if you do it because you're returning a favor." I grimaced after speaking, realizing just how cheesy I sounded.

"Huh. I guess I never thought of it like that." I knew it was coming, but it still surprised me when his lips met mine. We stayed like that for a while- his hands underneath my shirt, our lips moving to match the other's, until I finally raked my fingers through his hair and our tongues met. It was starting to get pretty heated before he pulled away abruptly.

"If we make too much noise, we'll get a shot." He whispered, kissing my jawbone. So, with a heavy sigh, we simply held each other as we drifted off into sleep.

The following morning came all too soon. The sun peeked through the windows above and like yesterday, Kenny and I woke up early to hit the showers before everyone else. Also like yesterday, Kenny extended the offer of showering together again and I agreed. I decided that showering with Kenny under the guise that he was my prag owner wasn't that bad at all. Sure, it was awkward when everyone else came in, but that was one con among many pros.

As Kenny was putting on a fresh pair of clothes, I was brushing my teeth in the sink next to Clyde.

"So, uh, are you and McCormick, like, together or something?" Clyde asked me awkwardly. I heard Kenny laugh from the wooden bench.

"I s-suppose. Why?" I responded, amused.

"Well, I was just wondering… How exactly do you establish that? You know, in prison. With another guy." Clyde looked like he was sweating as he stared down his reflection in the mirror.

"Umm, I don't really know if I'm an expert on that t-topic. Kenny might be able to give you some better p-pointers."

Clyde reddened. "I-It's not like THAT!"

Kenny walked by and added to Clyde nonchalantly, "Ask Tucker to be your prag owner. Works every time." He turned to look at me. "You done?"

"Yeah." I grabbed my stuff and left with him. "You know… You shouldn't torture Donovan like that. He's going to get his ass kicked."

"Maybe. Maybe not." Kenny chuckled, holding open the hallway door for me. "You've gotta admire his determination, though. Tucker's not by any stretch of the imagination easy."

The morning passed by in a blur after Kenny and I got to the cafeteria. Instead of counting uncooked food, Tucker had Clyde clean every inch of the kitchen by hand. The fryers, the supposed 'dishwashers' (which didn't even work), the floor, the scummy windows, and of course, the entire cafeteria floors and tables. This time Kenny decided to do some light reading and read through the complete works of Edgar Allan Poe he'd gotten from Miss Stevens yesterday. He even had a highlighter and was writing notes in the margins. After breakfast and lunch, Clyde finally stormed in right as we were finished cleaning up.

"Craig!" He gasped, clearly out of breath from his mundane tasks. "I need to ask you something!"

Oh God. Here we go.

"Will you.. Will you be my prag owner?!"

Tweek, who was in the middle of drinking some orange juice, gasped and choked profusely. Pip froze in place, spilling a bottle of ranch all over the prep table. Kenny was having fits of alarming laughter that turned into giggling snorts. But nothing beat Tucker's reaction. His motor functions seemed to have freezed up entirely and his eyes looked into Clyde's in absolute disbelief. An icy moment passed before he stepped up to Clyde and addressed him.

"Do you have ANY idea what you just said?" He asked, his voice trembling in utter shock.

"Um… Yes?" Clyde replied hesitantly, looking over to Kenny in uncertainty.

"You want me. To fuck you in the ass. That's what you want?" Tucker asked, his gaze never leaving Clyde's.

Clyde still didn't seem to understand that, firstly, he had been played by Kenny, and secondly, he still didn't fully understand the concept of 'prag owner'. Still, he persisted.

"No, no. That's not what I mean at all!"

"It's not?"

"Hell no! I want to do YOU in the ass!"

"...WHAT."

"Isn't that what 'Will you be my prag owner?' means?"

"...I'm leaving."

"No, wait!"

And with that, Tucker pushed past us out of the kitchen. After a moment's pause, Clyde muttered an angry "Jesus CHRIST!" and followed after him.

The rest of us all took a moment to process what had just happened.

"Man," Kenny cackled. "He's got it bad."

Tweak regained his ability to breathe properly and stood shakily. "This… this is seriously freaking me out, man. I need to go get a cup of coffee or something."

I was pretty sure that was the last thing he needed, but nonetheless I let him go. Pip left shortly after with a slight shake of his head. Kenny, on the other hand, seemed to be in a positively jolly mood and rested an arm on my shoulders before giving me a kiss full on the mouth.

"W-Where did that come from?" I asked, mildly surprised, but still quite numb from what had just unfolded before us.

"Dunno!" He laughed light-heartedly before opening the kitchen door and sneaking out, assumingly to spy on Tucker and Clyde. I sighed, looking around at our lunches still left behind mostly uneaten before I decided to check our stock of baked beans in the storage room. As I entered, I noticed it was still quite messy from Tucker and Clyde's little spat yesterday, and I found the source of what had broken then. It was a glass jar containing something white- either salt or sugar. The glass fragments were everywhere, providing quite a hazard. I was looking around for a broom when suddenly a voice spoke in my mind.

_All you'd h-have to do is g-grind up some broken glass and p-put it in his food for a couple weeks. After a while, his stomach won't be able to process it and it'll tear him up fr-fr-from the inside out. You won't kill him, just let me know when he's w-weak enough to confront. I'll take it from there._

I looked down at the glass shards and gulped. Tucker's lunch was sitting in the kitchen uneaten, and there was a large chance that he'd come back and eat it later. It would be too easy to do as Valmer said. Kenny himself sounded afraid of Valmer. Was it really in my best interests to ignore his deal? I bent down to pick up a glass shard and winced as my skin cut upon its touch.

**Annnnd that's all for this chapter~ I hope everyone's alright with Craig and Clyde being a thing. 'Cause I know most people are into the Creek ship, but FUCK. I'm sick of people just pairing Clyde up with either Token or Bebe out of convenience! As for Craig… Well. I didn't get him raped like I hinted at! xP Yeah, okay. So the glass-in-food thing is the oldest trick in the book. I know. But it's gonna serve an important purpose later. Promise. I hope my version of Tweek was believable. I stressed out over his character literally for weeks. It was not pretty xP If anyone seemed out of character, please let me know! I've been trying to age them a little, since they're older, but I want to preserve their personalities as much as possible. Let me know if there's a character you want to see more of! 'Cause NEXT ONE FINALLY HAS KYLE. THE HYPE IS SO REAL. Style is finally happening, and the elusive description of Stan that magically disappeared will return! Yay! Expect it within this month ;) **


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